


Let's Be Alone Together

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: 47k of feelings and avoiding feelings, Alternate Universe, Artist Zayn, Depression, M/M, Minor Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Roadtrip Fic, Slow Burn, coming of age - sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 47,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting his heart broken, Liam escapes his life in London by boarding a plane to Amsterdam. Along the way, he finds someone just as lost as him. Together they might just be able to find themselves.</p><p><em>“You’ll need coffee shops and sunsets and road trips. Airplanes and passports and new songs and old songs, but people more than anything else. You will need other people and you will need to be that other person to someone else, a living breathing screaming invitation to believe better things.” - Jamie Tworkowski</em> </p><p>  <em>Thanks for being that person for me, Li.</em></p><p>  <em>ZM.</em></p><p>Or, maybe in the end it doesn't matter so much where you end up, as long as you aren't alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic in 2013. It's now April 2017 and I've finally managed to finish it. This has been a labor of love, I've thought at times that maybe I should just give up on ever finishing it, but then I met the incredibly wonderful [Pamela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/narue) who I am fortunate enough to consider a friend. Without you this fic might have never been finished. Babe, you've helped me so much in these past few weeks, I cannot possibly thank you enough for being my cheerleader and helping me finally get back on track with writing. I've learned so much from you in such a short time and you're helping me become a better writer. I am so grateful to have met you!

He first meets him at the airport. Liam walks up to the counter of an airline and says “What's the first flight that I could still get a ticket for?” The lady behind the counter looks shocked and confused, and it takes her a moment to sift through the system, while Liam hopes that the first flight doesn't leave for like, Denmark. Not that he's got anything against Denmark, he's just not quite sure what he'd do there. But then, he's not quite sure what he'd do _anywhere_ , really.

 “Amsterdam,” she tells him, and Liam nods, wonders if he'll be able to rent a car there. He doesn't know much about Amsterdam, other than the stereotype, legal prostitution (no thank you), weed, and endless amounts of people on bicycles.

 “Done,” he says, and slides his passport over. He fiddles with his backpack while she goes through the process of booking him a ticket, tells him what gate the flight's boarding from, handing him his passport back when he's paid for the transaction. She tells him to have a pleasant flight and he thanks her, steps away from the counter to let the next passenger book his ticket, soft voice filtering through the haze of _oh my God did I really just_ when he hears the boy scrape his throat, and say

 “The same for me, please.”

 He turns back to watch the airline employee look at a boy roughly his age, hears her ask, just to confirm, he thinks, “Amsterdam?”

 The boy grins. “Anywhere.”

 

They meet again by the gate, where the boy sits in a seat opposite from him, grinning at Liam when he glances up. Liam nods back but he's not really in the mood to make conversation, so he just thumbs through his contact list, sends messages left and right. To Louis ( _don't make a mess of the apartment, key's under the mat, dunno when I'll be back_ ), to his parents and his sisters ( _don't worry about me, I'll be fine, I just need a break_ ), to his now ex-colleague Niall ( _remember that no matter how foul he acts, at the end of the day he's still the one that pays your bills!_ ). 

 It's maybe fifteen minutes until boarding, and Liam spends the remaining thirteen playing angry birds on his phone and dodging any phone calls.

 When he sets foot on the plane, he makes his way to seat 28C, finds the boy from before sitting across the aisle in 28D. “She must have thought we knew each other,” the boy says, and Liam nods and stares determinedly out of the window until a couple in their thirties occupy the seats next to him.

 

It's a short flight, feels like it's over before it's begun, and with no dropped off luggage, Liam's quick to make his way out of the airport. Seat 28D is just as quick, and they wind up standing outside of Schiphol airport, Liam with no clue where to go from here, and the boy lighting a cigarette.

 “Where are you going?” He says, and Liam glances up from where he was trying to draw up a map on his phone, shrugs a shoulder. He's still not in the mood for conversation, but he's been raised proper, and not answering a direct question would be rude.

 “Don't know yet,” he says, looking at the cars that pull up and stop, watches people piling out and others get in, watches family and friends reunite and he was hoping to avoid this, to not have to see how there's still people that can be genuinely _happy_. Liam's lost the ability to, he feels, and he's sure he'd be sad about it but that would mean he'd be feeling anything at all, and right now, he's just not.

Minus maybe vague annoyance, because the other doesn't seem to get the hint that Liam's not asking him the same question for a reason. “Yeah,” he says, voice still soft and it's a little scratchy – from the cigarettes, Liam assumes. “I get that.”

“Do you,” he grits out despite himself, and he finds himself meeting hazel eyes, that look amused more than anything at the shocking lack of courtesy that Liam's displaying.

The boy nods. “Yup,” he says, popping the p before taking a drag from his cigarette. “'s where I'm headed too. Nowhere. Anywhere. Everywhere. Liberating, isn't it?”

Liam wants to tell him it's anything but. Wants to say that no matter where he goes, he can't run away from his past, wants to _chastise_ him for thinking that he can, hypocritical as it would be. At the same time, he's sick with jealousy for the other's seemingly carefree attitude. As it is, he watches him take another drag from the cigarette, watches him tilt his head back to release the smoke into the crisp March air. “Well,” he says, tugging the collar of his shirt up, despite the fact that his sister's always said it makes him look like a tosser (it does). “Good luck with that.”

The boy sounds amused when he tips the ashes from his cigarette, one hand stuck in his pocket. “You too,” he says, and he still manages to sound sincere, and not at all like he thinks Liam's either crazy or a pitiful excuse for a human being.

(Liam kind of feels like both right now)

 “Thanks,” he says, lingers on the word because a cab pulls up and Liam suddenly realizes he has no idea what he's doing, whether he's going to get in, whether he could pay with pounds since he's fairly sure they have a different currency over here, and the boy takes the silence as a cue to introduce himself.

 “Zayn,” he says, and Liam nods. Right.

 “Liam,” he says, to be polite, because they're both standing here and the cabbie's giving them annoyed-or-calculated looks like he's not entirely sure to keep waiting or to signal to another traveler, so Liam takes a step closer to the curb, digs in his pocket for his wallet and prays that they speak English here. The window opens slowly and a man looks at him, uninterested “Ja?” making Liam stumble over his words, and the last thing he hears is Zayn's laugh.

 “See you around Liam!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I go a month or two without writing and then inspiration strikes and I have about 3-4 text messages saved in my concept folder because I had ideas in the middle of the night.

The second time he runs into him is at a car rental. Just as he's about to open the door, Zayn reaches for it too, and Liam can't help but sigh, thinks _are you kidding me_ when the boy just grins at him. “Are you stalking me?” He asks, and Zayn laughs. 

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't the very definition of stalking imply like, secrecy and avoiding being seen? Does me walking into this shop in broad daylight really fit into that scenario?”

Liam shrugs a shoulder, doesn't answer him, and instead asks “What are you doing here?”

Zayn looks amused, gestures towards the shop. “It's a car rental. By its very definition-”

“Yeah yeah,” Liam cuts him off, feels agitated that Zayn is so calm, that he's mocking Liam – though Liam has a feeling he's not trying to, that he's just feeling like a fool because he's acting like an ass. He moves to the counter, just as Zayn steps forward too, and he wants to send him a dirty look, but technically they both arrived here at the same time, and unless Zayn's up for a game of rock, paper, scissors, he's equally entitled to being helped first.

“Can I help you two?” The man behind the counter asks, and Zayn smiles, charming and easy, one thumb hooked in his pocket as he glances at the price list behind the counter.

“We would like a car,” he says, and Liam, annoyed that he's speaking for him, like they're _together_ , interrupts.

“Cars. We would both like a car. Not the same car.”

Zayn chuckles, but the man behind the counter looks constipated, or perhaps just a tad put out. “I'm sorry,” he says in accented English, “we've only got the one left. There are a few due in tomorrow, though, if you would like to come back in the morning.”

Liam does not want to come back in the morning, thank you very much, he's spent three days in Amsterdam as it is, and while it is a beautiful city in some ways, he's had more than enough of it by now, plans to move on somewhere else before his fear and guilt can catch up with him. He half expects Zayn to be the bigger man (because he seems like an irritatingly good person) and bow out, but as he glances towards him, he can see the other giving him a calculated look.

“Where are you headed?” He asks, and no. Just. _No_.

Liam grits his teeth. “Somewhere,” he says, dismissive. But Zayn just laughs again.

“Funny, me too.”

“Somewhere _else_ ,” Liam emphasizes the word, like Zayn is stupid and needs things spelled out for him. Zayn doesn't seem phased by his less than friendly demeanor, though, and just shrugs.

“Suit yourself mate. I'm pretty sure I was here first, and I'd be more than happy to give you a lift to wherever you plan to go next, but you're more than welcome to come back tomorrow, the gentleman just said so.” He takes a step up to the counter, produces a wallet from god-knows-where on those ridiculously skinny black jeans he's wearing, and Liam is sure that he's mocking him now, is only being nice because he knows Liam won't accept the ride.

“I- you know what,” he starts, spluttering, and Zayn turns towards him, hazel eyes sparkling. _Live a little, Liam_ , he says, and Liam wants to punch him in the face for it, for sounding so _earnest_ again, but he knows he's only this irritated because Zayn's right. Because this whole trip (he refuses to call it a flight) to Europe was supposed to be about breaking the mold. Doings things for the hell of it. Still, he's surprised – though not as much as Zayn is – when he nods. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Zayn echoes, and where his face showed surprise a moment before, its smoothed over into something that almost looks like pride, or at least like Liam's managed to please him in some way. He smiles at him again, and this time, Liam finds himself returning it.

 

 

They're standing outside while the car is brought from the garage, Zayn lighting a cigarette, when he turns to Liam, hazel eyes thoughtful. “I really wasn't stalking you, by the way,” he says, and Liam bites his lip.

“I didn't really think you were, to be honest,” he says, runs his fingers through his hair only to belatedly realize that he's got no hair left, had buzzed it off a few days before leaving from London. His body's still not used to it, and with the weather in Amsterdam being cold and damp, he'd almost regret the impulse that had him walking into a barber shop and announcing that he wanted all his hair chopped off.

Zayn nods, watches him for a moment, bringing the cigarette to his lips (holding it between forefinger and thumb, Liam notices absently), the movement revealing brightly coloured tattoos on his lower arm. Liam feels like a creep for staring at them, though he knows Zayn is watching him still, and he worries his lip with his teeth. “I just-” he starts, and Zayn starts at the same moment, saying

“I can see how-”. They both fall silent, and Zayn gestures towards him to go first. Liam shrugs a shoulder, not entirely sure what he was going to say, or if he was merely going to speak to fill the silence.

“Why did you come here?” He asks, and it's not an accusation this time, he isn't asking _why did you book a ticket here after I did_ , but from the way Zayn's lip curls up into a smile, he figures the other hears that question too.

“Why did you?” He asks, blowing smoke from his mouth, perfect little circles that have Liam staring at them until they dissolve.

“Just needed a change of scenery,” Liam says, but he can't help that it comes out sounding like _I don't want to talk about it, if that's okay_. Zayn nods like he heard, glances down at his cigarette before meticulously tipping the ashes, like that's something that requires all of his attention right now. He takes a last drag before putting the ciggy out with the heel of his shoe.

“Yeah,” The words are so soft that Liam almost doesn't hear them, with the way Zayn's ducked his head down. “Me too.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You must think I'm stupid,” Liam says, when they've successfully navigated their way out of Amsterdam and onto a freeway. The sun's out, though it's still chilly, but he's able to hide his eyes behind a pair of large sunglasses, and when Zayn looks at him from behind his, he can't make out his expression. He sees his hands, long, slender hands, tighten minutely around the steering wheel for a moment, though.

“For?” Zayn asks, and it sounds neutral.

Liam bites his lip for a moment, shrugs a shoulder as he glances out the window. “Name something.”

Zayn seems to consider him for a moment, before he turns back to the road. “There are a lot of things I think about you, Liam, but stupid isn't one of them.” He says evenly, and Liam isn't too sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, isn't sure he wants to know, but he finds himself nudging him despite that, as if to say _well_?

“I think you think too much,” Zayn answers after a short pause, and he glances in the rear view mirror, changing lanes to pass a truck. “I think you care too much what other people think about you.”

Liam snorts, despite himself. “I don't care what other people think,” he says, braver than he feels, and Zayn just gives him a look that's so obvious, Liam doesn't need to see his eyes to understand Zayn doesn't buy it for a single second. He deflates a little. “You see too much,” he mumbles, and it sounds sulky.

Zayn has the good grace not to laugh. He just nods. “People tell me that,” he says simply, and for some reason, that makes Liam a little sad.

“It's not a bad thing,” he tries, wondering if he insulted Zayn without meaning to (which would be a nice change, he knows that, because he wasn't exactly trying to be nice to him before, and he's not a hundred percent sure why he's bothering to be different now, other than that they're apparently spending the next week together, driving a Toyota around the Netherlands), “I mean, 's better than not seeing what's right in front of your face, yeah?”

Zayn hm-s for a moment. “Is that what happened to you?” And no, Liam takes it back, it _is_ a bad thing. Zayn must realise it too, because he cringes. “Sorry,” he says softly, tries for a smile. “I forget sometimes, that not everyone's used to my .. to me.”

Liam nods. “It's okay,” he says, and he tries really hard not to let his tone be influenced by the memories Zayn inadvertently drew up. He tells himself that he's not that person anymore. That he's a different Liam Payne. And who knows, maybe a week with Zayn will teach him to open his eyes. That's the whole goal of leaving England, isn't it? To come back a different person?

A _better_ one.

 

 

They arrive around noon, having decided quickly on that while they've got a car, they might as well do some sightseeing. Liam had drawn up a page of tourist attractions in the Netherlands, and with The Hague only a good sixty kilometers from Amsterdam, they had decided to visit Madurodam, a park that shows miniatures of everything that makes The Netherlands special, or so the website claims. They park close to the entrance and leave their bags at the lobby, only bringing the bare essentials, which unfortunately includes an umbrella. It's dry for now, though, and after they buy their tickets, they head to the food court first, getting a couple of overpriced sandwiches as they look at a map of the park.

It's much smaller than Liam had expected it to be from the website, and not just because it's miniature everything (and he means everything, right down to the tiny planes at tiny Schiphol). He doubts they'll spend more than an hour in here, but as they make their way outside, navigating through the park, he finds himself enjoying the place more than he'd thought he would. It's half the craftsmanship (that Zayn raves about, and Liam wonders if he's an artist of some kind) and half the fact that they get to see the whole of The Netherlands (Zayn says it's not called Holland, apparently, that Holland is only a part of The Netherlands, and Liam will take his word for it), all smushed together in a theme park. He's never seen anything like this back home, and it's fun, wandering around, seeing other theme parks represented (Zayn insists they have to visit The Efteling at some point, and then makes a joke about this being Themeparkception. It's a lame joke but Liam laughs anyway), watching the trains as they move through the artificially constructed landscape. They see the Peace Palace and the Hunebedden, and for the first time since he left from the airport in London, Liam finds himself excited for this trip. He points out places that he'd like to see, and Zayn smiles, tells him, “we will then,” and Liam doesn't protest the _we_.

When they get tired of walking around, they head back outside, back to their car where they pull up a map on one of their phones and decide where to go next. It's still quite early in the afternoon, not yet past four, and they contemplate heading to another tourist attraction versus finding a place to stay for the night. With the beach so nearby, they make their way to Scheveningen, dropping their bags off at a youth hostel, where they're told it's possible to rent bikes for no more than 10 euro a day.

Instead of biking, they decide to walk, wandering up and down the boulevard, looking at the hotels and the theater and the many overpriced shops. At one point, Liam gets out his camera and takes a few pictures of the beach, then snaps a shot of Zayn when he's half turned away to light a cigarette, fingers curved around the lighter to protect it from the wind. His hair is in disarray from the salt and the way the wind runs through the strands, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and Liam has a feeling that if he'd show him the photo, Zayn would demand he delete it instantly. So he doesn't tell him, just grins when Zayn looks his way because it's not all that hard to feel good when he's at the beach, when it feels like his problems are literally being blown away.

Cold and hungry, they finally make their way to a restaurant that sits a good half kilometer into the water, and as Liam pours over the menu, he can't even find it in him to be worried about the amount of money he's spent in one day, or the fact that he emptied his entire savings account into his normal bank account, and that there's a very good chance that he might end up blowing it all way before he's ready to head back home. Zayn was right, he _does_ think too much, but with him at his side, grinning at him from above his menu, it's a little easier not to.


	4. Chapter 4

They set an alarm for seven A.M., after deciding that they should visit The Efteling, one of The Netherlands' most famous theme parks. Zayn tells Liam that he needs to wake him up, probably, and that he's sorry in advance for any verbal abuse that's sure to come his way. Liam laughs and tells him he'll just dump a glass of water on his face, and Zayn gasps and looks at him like he's not entirely sure Liam won't.

(Liam won't)

“Are you trying to make me reconsider travelling with you?” He asks, and Liam smirks at him, lets the silence linger for a second or two.

He shakes his head then. “Surprisingly, no.”

Zayn beams.

 

Come morning, Zayn doesn't seem too happy to be stuck with Liam, if the growls and curses are any indication. Liam's sure he'd throw a pillow at his head, if that didn't involve far more moving than Zayn's comfortable with, this early in the day. “Zaynnn,” he sing-songs, laughs when all the response he gets is a muffled whine from underneath the other's pillow. “C'mon Zaynie, it's time to get up.”

“Five more minutes,” Zayn grumbles, trying to bat Liam away when he reaches for his pillow, and Liam laughs, prods his side instead.

“Who am I? Your mum?” He jokes, glad that no one else is staying in the room with them, because he's sure they would personally drag Zayn out of bed, rather than having to suffer through Liam's not-so-successful attempts at getting him to acknowledge they're starting their day.

Zayn pushes his pillow away, opens one bleary eye. “Nah,” he says, and his voice sounds gravelly and laced with sleep. “You'd make one ugly ass woman, Li.”

Liam pretends to be affronted, but Zayn's pushing himself up, rubbing at his eyes, so he decides to count it as victory instead. Still, he prods at his chest. “Says you,” he retorts, and it's a lame one, he knows it even before Zayn smiles.

“For your information, I make one _hell_ of a woman, and I've got the pictures to prove it,” Zayn retorts, rather smugly, before he yawns and makes a move to flop back on the bed. Liam's anticipated that though, and he's removed his pillow, yanking the blankets off too, before Zayn can cover himself up again. “Bastard,” Zayn mutters darkly, curling into a little ball. “See if I show you those pictures of me now. Your loss, Payne, I make a damn attractive woman.”

“You're ridiculous,” Liam says, and it sounds fond.

“Your _face_ is ridiculous.”

 

Zayn, Liam assumes, unfortunately has to agree that that wasn't one of his best retorts, and finally sees sense, joining Liam for breakfast, though he doesn't really contribute much to the conversation, not even after two cups of coffee. He mostly grunts and nods and when Liam offers to drive, he happily sinks into the passenger seat and closes his eyes.

“Oy!” Liam calls out, when Zayn seems happy to continue sleeping for the duration of the drive. “What am I? A cab driver? You stay awake, you hear me, or I won't let you on any rides.” Hey, Zayn's compared him to his mum, so he's going to go with that, even if his threat sounds far too good natured to be taken as anything other than light bickering.

Zayn snorts, pushes his sunglasses down on his face. “'s okay,” he mutters sleepily, “I'll just ride you.”

 

They arrive just when the park opens at ten A.M., having stopped somewhere along the way for a cigarette and some more coffee. Zayn is shivering in his light jacket, and Liam drags him off towards the restaurant after they've bought their tickets, buying him a mug of hot chocolate.

It's surprisingly comfortable, being with him. They banter and joke around, and it's crude sometimes, as boys their age can be, but it's nice. Considering they've known each other for a day and a half, Zayn turns out to be pleasant company, and Liam's happy he took the bait and didn't find another car rental. He doesn't say any of it though, just smiles at Zayn when he curls his fingers around the mug and sits there in silence, nodding when Liam points at the attractions he wants to visit.

The park is rather desolate at this time of year, despite it being open year round, most people tend to visit during the holidays or in summer. It means that there's no waiting in line for any attraction, though, and while the weather's not great, it's dry and the sun's out.

Zayn tells him he's not a big fan of rollercoasters, but that he doesn't mind waiting if Liam wants to go on one, and Liam tells him they can check out some of the other attractions first. Despite the fact that it sounds somewhat like a kids' attraction, they decide to head to the Fairytale Forest, in the fairy realm of Marerijk. As they wander through the forest, Zayn reads the info off the map, telling him it's the oldest attraction in the park, and that it has twenty six different fairy tales. He looks up then, at Liam, smiles a little, and it's soft and maybe a bit sad. “I used to read fairy tales to my sisters, every night before they went to sleep.”

Liam isn't sure why, but he wants to take his hand and squeeze it, do _something_ to get the sad look off his face. Instead he chews his lip, looks at Sleeping Beauty's castle, because he doesn't like being looked at when he's not a hundred percent in control of himself and he's not sure but he guesses it might be the same for Zayn. “You have sisters?” He asks, and it's more to give Zayn a chance to talk, if he wants, more to say something rather than come across as an asshole by brushing it off.

He can see Zayn nodding from his peripheral vision. “Three,” he says, “Doniya, she's older than me, and two younger ones, Waliyha and Safaa.” He doesn't offer up more information, and Liam just nods, worries his lip with his teeth while he tries to find something to say.

“Do you miss them?” is probably not what he should ask, because it's obvious from the way Zayn talks about them that he loves them very much, and even if Liam doesn't have any younger sisters, he does miss Nicola and Ruth in his own way. “I've got two sisters too,” is what he follows up with, because maybe if he keeps talking Zayn won't feel obligated to answer his question, will know that Liam's just not good with small talk, let alone comforting someone. “They're both older than me though.”

Zayn looks at him, as they come to a stop near The Little Mermaid's rock. “Are you close with your family?” He asks, toying with his lighter, something Liam has come to realize means that he's not entirely at ease. He figures there's a story there, that his sadness is caused by more than his being away from his siblings, but he doesn't ask. He doesn't think he has the right to, and he doesn't want to upset Zayn. Just as Liam's got his reasons for leaving, that he doesn't want to talk about, Zayn might have his own, and it wouldn't be fair to ask him to tell when he isn't ready to return the favor.

So he nods, shrugs his shoulder. “For the most part. I don't know. They're my family, I guess I've never really thought about it. So I suppose that means things are good, yeah? I miss them, when I'm away, and I talk to them quite often, but I wouldn't want to live with them again, if I had the choice.”

He's not sure that's an answer, or if it makes sense, but Zayn smiles at him like it does. It makes Liam want to take out his phone and snap a picture of him, and that makes him think of what Zayn said earlier, about there being pictures of him in drag, and he bites his tongue so he won't ask, just nudges his side instead. “How about we go and find the dreamboat?”

“ _You're_ a dreamboat,” Zayn retorts, and Liam laughs.

“You need more coffee.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extremely long wait, my body decided that it was going to take a break, so I've been in a lot of pain, and a lot of other things have been happening (mostly good ones, thankfully), but I've finally had some time to write, hopefully my body will allow me to write another update soon! Hope you enjoy! And please take a look [here](http://we-are-the-same-fic.tumblr.com/post/59297431953/mutha-fuckin-sopa-is-back-aug-23-2013) and sign the petition against SOPA, so you can all enjoy fics in the future!

It's easier than he expected it to be, this thing with Zayn. They fall into this comfortable sort of camaraderie, where they can walk side by side for minutes on end without saying something, until one of them will point something out, and excitement takes over. Zayn literally drags him down to the entrance of a boat ride called the Fata Morgana, insisting that they go for the eight minute boat ride that'll take them past over a hundred different characters. The entire thing has an Oriental setting and Liam wonders if he's seeing part of Zayn's heritage, or if that's a dumb and perhaps even prejudiced thing to think. He can tell by Zayn's skin tone – and the names he's given for his sisters – that he's from another culture, compared to Liam, but he doesn't know which, thinks perhaps asking is rude. For all he knows, Zayn's name is the only thing that ties him to a culture that's something other than _British_. 

He finds he doesn't want to insult him, even accidentally, so he holds his tongue, just smiles when Zayn seems so eager to go on the ride. They stand in line for a few minutes, waiting to settle into one of the fourteen boats. Zayn smiles at him, and his “Thank you,” is so quiet that Liam almost misses it.

He blinks and asks “What for?” and Zayn just laughs, gestures to the park, then between them, and shrugs. Liam nods and thinks he understands.

Before they have lunch, Liam really wants to go on the large, wooden roller coaster called George and the Dragon. Zayn casts it a doubtful look and says he's happy to wait for Liam to return, settling onto a bench and refusing to budge. Liam chews his lip and wonders if it's rude for him to go and leave Zayn alone when they're here together, but Zayn waves him off, tells him he could use a break, he's been trying to keep up with Liam's long legs all day. He grins while he says it, and Liam feels the tightness in his chest dissipate, doesn't even think twice about leaving his bag with him.

It's weird, he thinks, as he's clambering into the cart, feeling his stomach give a lurch when the cart starts to move. He _trusts_ him. And that's not Liam. That's not Liam at all.

 

They spend the remainder of their day wandering through the park, eating junk food and feeling like little kids, hyper on candy and the knowledge that they can do whatever they want. Liam finds that his cheeks are hurting by the end of it, and he's not sure if it's the liquorice strings they've been chewing on or the fact that Zayn sometimes gives him a look that just makes it impossible to keep from smiling. It's this fond, almost-but-not-quite smile he gives Liam that makes him feel like he wants to impress Zayn, while at the same time knowing that he doesn't need to.

He buys Zayn a little wizard's hat on a key chain, cracks a joke about how this way he'll always remember how magical today was. Zayn buys him a key chain too, with a little sun on it, tells him that he should never forget that he's his own center, and it's oddly serious until Zayn grins and nudges his side and cracks a joke about Liam's smile lighting up his world like nobody else.

Liam asks him if those lines have _ever_ worked on any girl, and Zayn barely misses a beat before he laughs, retorts that he can ' _charm the pants off of anyone, Liam, thank you very much_ '.

Somehow Liam doesn't think he's exaggerating.

 

The drive back to the coast is peaceful. They stop for dinner somewhere along the way, eat burgers as they're leaned against their car, Zayn's long legs trapped in denim, spread out over the hood when he shifts to sit down. Liam looks at him and feels helpless for a moment, something bubbling up in his chest, sticking in his throat and he doesn't know what it is. He wants to swallow it down and say something, wants Zayn – who is staring out at an empty parking lot, yellow light casting shadows on his face – to look at him and give him that stupidly bright grin again, but when he speaks up, his voice sounds soft and maybe a little worried. “Where are you headed next?” He asks, realizes he did mean _you_ and not _we_ , because this is temporary and Liam –- Liam's supposed to find his own center, not count on Zayn (or anyone, his mind supplies) to make him feel better.

Zayn looks up, wipes absently at his lips to get rid of the ketchup in the corner of his mouth. “Why?” He asks, and although he's smiling, it's expectant. “Eager to get rid of me?” He jokes, and Liam feels something break loose in his chest.

“No,” he says, shakes his head for good measure. “Not at all,” he insists, and he finds that he means it, finds that his voice is so earnest and, if he admits to it, eager, and there's no way Zayn's soft smile is unrelated to the way Liam suddenly feels too big and too small all at once.

He watches him crumple up the paper bag their food came in, watches it soar through the air in a graceful arch before it hits the edge of the waste basket, and then he watches Zayn sigh, push himself up from the hood to retrieve the trash, depositing it in the can, all in silence.

“I don't know,” he finally says, shrugging a shoulder and looking at Liam, though it's too dark to fully recognize the emotions playing on his face. “I guess that depends on when I'm headed back.”

Liam's not even thought about that. Going back. He's not sure there's something to go back for, or to, for that matter. Logically he knows he should, at some point. Knows that his family is worried, his friends are all back home, it's all there, waiting for him, like the final puzzle piece that'll complete the picture. But Liam isn't so sure he fits the way he did. Or, even, if the picture isn't finished without him.

He nods, watching Zayn's hands as he lights a cigarette, choosing not to comment on the slight tremor. “I don't know either,” Liam says quietly, taking a sip from his drink when his throat suddenly feels too dry. “I don't know anything, right now, actually.” He admits.

Zayn nods. “You will,” he says softly, taking a drag from his cigarette, meeting Liam's eyes. “I know you will.” He smiles then, but it's not his usual grin. It's softer, and it makes Liam feel like he's seeing something not a lot of people have, maybe something Zayn's not even fully conscious of, or even willing to show. “But for now, we can just be two clueless idiots together, yeah?” And there it is, that grin, one that Liam's pretty sure can and _has_ brought people to do reckless things in order to keep Zayn's attention on them.

One that, Liam comes to learn, is a mask, too, in a way.

He grins back, lets Zayn have his secrecy, feels like it's only fair when he's not ready to share who he is or why he's here. He bumps his shoulder against Zayn's and leaves it there, smiling. “That sounds good.”

It sounds perfect, actually. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update 13/9: I can't tell for sure when I'll be able to write another chapter, I need surgery on my arm (thumb & elbow) on September 30th and I'm in an awful lot of pain right now, so typing is literally making me nauseous at times :( I hope I can manage something before the surgery though, since recovery might take a long time >.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi darlings :) in case not everyone read the note at the bottom of my last chapter (which I put there well after I wrote it, so I don't blame you for not noticing it), I am going in for surgery next Monday (30th of September), on my thumb & elbow. So I won't be able to write for a while. I've been having a lot of pain so that's why this chapter is delayed, but despite being in pain, I wanted to get something written for all of you before I went in to get surgery. I love you all and I hope you'll stick with me while I recover!

They've known each other for less than a week, and yet Liam feels like he's not quite sure what he's going to do without Zayn. After visiting the Efteling, they've done a few more touristy things around the Netherlands, driving up to take the boat to one of the islands, renting a bike and exploring the coastline, and they've even driven all the way up to the other side of the country (not like that's hard, it's _tiny_ ) to see the Hunebedden. 

It is their last day here, and the weather is damp and foggy and it fits Liam's mood, and every time Zayn gets that smile on his face because of a damn rock, Liam feels irritated. Maybe he is jealous. Maybe _he_ wants Zayn's attention, because they've agreed to take the car back to the rental tomorrow and he holds a grudge against a stupid rock construction that means God-knows-what because all Liam could think when Zayn explained was _when is this going to end_.

He's yet to ask him what Zayn's plans are, because he's not sure if he wants to hear that he doesn't know, thinks it might be worse if Zayn _does_ know and his plans simply don't include him. He's yet to ask if they can keep in touch, when they're on the road or back in England. He thinks things might be different, back there. Thinks Zayn might not like him all that much.

He's jolted from his thoughts when Zayn slides his fingers in his, gives him a little squeeze and a grin, and Liam can't help but smile back, even when Zayn's smile turns smug and those fingers disappear under his jacket, cold spreading through his body when they're pressed against his waist, too faint to do more than tickle. “Ass!” He says, but it comes out fond, and Zayn's smile is unrepentant.

“Figured you needed cheering up,” he says, shrugging a shoulder as he withdraws his hands. “Your smile's not lighting up any worlds right now, Liam.”

Liam loves how he says his name, Leeyum, can't help but smile a little at his words. Zayn looks so proud when he does, pats his cheek and murmurs “There it is,” tone soft and fond, and Liam is going to _miss_ him.

 

It's that awkward, inevitable moment, that, frankly, follows a whole lot of awkward, inevitable moments that have been happening from the moment they got up this morning. First it was packing their bags, then checking out of the hostel, then returning the car and dealing with money and being asked about any further holiday plans. Now it's here. On the street in Amsterdam, outside the car rental that Liam wanted to storm out of just a week ago, where right now he wants nothing more than to stay, keep Zayn from leaving too.

“So,” he says, but then doesn't know what to say. He's afraid his voice will crack, and Zayn .. Zayn glances away and lights a cigarette, echoes his 'so' with a quiet one of his own. Liam scrapes his throat and tries again, takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh of air.

He isn't this guy. He doesn't take risks. Minus coming to the Netherlands, but that wasn't as much a risk as it was being a coward, running away. For a guy who wanted to be a superhero or a fire fighter, Liam isn't big on actually getting in the middle of it, on putting himself out there, knowing that he could get hurt.

“It's been fun,” he says instead, and Zayn looks up at him, smiles humorlessly.

“It has been,” he agrees easily, reaches out as though he's going to prod Liam's side, then drops his hand and just gestures between them. “Surprisingly so.”

Liam makes a face, thinks back of how he'd been just last week, on how much he'd wanted to hate Zayn on sight. He's glad he gave him a chance, now. “I'm glad I got to know you,” he says, voice soft, and Zayn gives him another of those smiles, but it's gentler now.

“Me too,” he nods, takes a drag from his cigarette and smiles again. “I'm glad you lived a little, Li.” His smile falters and he looks serious all of a sudden, meets his gaze and doesn't look away right the next second for what feels like the first time today. “Keep that up, okay? Keep .. just don't lose that spark, yeah? You're .. you're a great guy, Liam, and I don't know what happened, I don't know who hurt you or why you left, or even who you were, before all of this, but if there's anything you take back –- you're a great guy. And you deserve to live, and to make mistakes, and .. God, don't listen to me, I don't even know what I'm saying. I just ..” He shakes his head, but Liam gets it.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and Zayn nods, and this is it, this is the moment he's been dreading, because there's nothing more to say than goodbye, and he doesn't think he can stand it, but he's not too sure he can stand delaying the inevitable either. “So,” he starts again, winces when his voice does this thing where it so desperately wants to sound strong but fails spectacularly. Zayn has the decency not to comment on it, just looks up at him with those smart hazel eyes, and Liam wishes he could read him as easily as he knows Zayn can read him.

“I guess this-” he starts, and Zayn stops him, holds up his finger and rummages through his backpack, comes up with a small notebook that claims I LOVE HOLLAND, decorated in red, white, blue and orange. It's tacky, and Liam loves it, even before Zayn hands it to him and says

“I wrote you something. Don't –- read it after I'm gone, okay? I'm not good with this kind of thing, as you maybe can tell. So just .. let's just ..” He shrugs a shoulder, gestures towards the notebook.

Liam nods. Looks up at him and holds the notebook close to his chest. “I won't say goodbye then,” he says, and Zayn smiles sadly. “I won't say I miss you either,” he continues, and his tone is half teasing and half so honest it feels like he's tearing down his own walls and directing everyone to the parts where it's so damn easy to break him right now.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, reaches out to squeeze his arm. “Me too, Li.” He reaches out, kisses his cheek, murmurs “I won't say it,” and the exhale against his cheek is not a laugh, Liam knows, and what's stuck in his throat isn't either.

There's so much he wants to say, but it boils down to _goodbye_ and he promised he wouldn't. So he stays quiet and squeezes Zayn back and then he watches him, because it hurts, seeing him walk away, but it would hurt more not to, to not have that last moment, to not have _every_ moment he can.

The moment Zayn turns the corner, Liam opens up the small notebook to Zayn's slanted writing.

_“You’ll need coffee shops and sunsets and road trips. Airplanes and passports and new songs and old songs, but people more than anything else. You will need other people and you will need to be that other person to someone else, a living breathing screaming invitation to believe better things.” - Jamie Tworkowski_

_Thanks for being that person for me, Li._

_ZM._

The words get blurred out by the end, but Liam's pretty sure that's because there are tears in his eyes, and he doesn't breathe until he's read the words twice. He's not sure what he's doing until he's shouldered his bag and broken out into a run, but it's _live a little Liam_ and _you will need other people_ and it's _Zayn_.

“Zayn! Wait! Wait up!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but after two months of not being able to write, I was finally able to get something out :D hopefully my thumb/elbow won't act up too much.

What if he can't find him?

What if he – Liam can't even think about it. He needs to find him. He's not sure _why_ , but. What Zayn said. Wrote. About Liam being that person for him. He's never been that. He's never been anyone's person. Not even -

and he wants to be that person when he goes back, he wants to be someone that people look up to, that they take comfort in, but he doesn't know how. Doesn't know if he can be. Not just yet.

“Zayn!” He turns a corner, tries to find him in the crowd of bored looking Dutch people, most of them not even looking up at the boy screaming his lungs out, and Liam's not even bothering with _sorry_ 's and _excuse me_ 's when they have to sidestep him. He feels frantic, and _scared_ , in a way he hadn't when he left, because he had a plan then, vague as it was.

(Amsterdam was totally a plan. Something to hold onto. Now? He's got nothing. He's got his bag and his papers and his money and his hopelessness and he's not sure he can _breathe_.)

“Zayn!” He tries one more time, finds that no one's turning around, no boy in a leather jacket coming to a stop in response to his voice, and Liam forces his legs to come to a halt, rests a hand against a lamp post and tries to breathe, past the pain in his throat, the burning in his lungs and the stinging in his eyes.

_It'll be okay_ , he tells himself. _It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be-_

“Liam?”

He whirls around, finds that he wants to pinch himself when Zayn is standing there, looking bewildered and confused and –- his eyes are red-rimmed, and Liam knows they're in _Amsterdam_ , but - “Were you crying?” He asks, dumbfounded, and Zayn makes a soft sound in the back of his throat.

“I've got a flair for dramatics,” he says, avoiding his eyes, and Liam, he laughs. Feels like he can't catch his breath and he hiccups a giggle, and he can't stop even when Zayn's bemused look turns slightly frustrated, like he's thinking Liam's making fun of him. “Li, what are you-” he starts, impatient, and Liam drops his bag, takes Zayn's and holds it like he can hold the boy captive like that.

“I-,” he starts, brushes a hand over his head, catches the slight stubble on his skin. “I need you to be that person, Zayn. I mean. I can't be that person without you. I want to be. I want to believe that you're right and that I can be. But I don't think I can be just yet. And you. You're that person for me, too, y'know? And, I don't know, I don't know where you're going but, d'you think you-”

“Got room for one more troubled soul?” Zayn finishes, and Liam's pretty sure that's a lyric, though he doesn't know who it's by or where it's from and it doesn't matter, just as long as Zayn says “Yes. I mean. Sure. I was thinking, Paris?” He's saying it like he's not sure Liam's serious, like he thinks he might say no because they escaped to Amsterdam together but Liam was meant to go back.

He is going back. Just. Not yet.

“Paris,” Liam echoes, and he finds the tightness in his chest dissipating as he grins as Zayn, finds Zayn grinning back at him, tentatively at first, then wider when Liam continues. “Paris sounds perfect.”

 

 

It's a little over three hours to Paris by train, and once they're settled in, having bought tickets and stuffed their luggage in the overhead compartments, Liam finds that he doesn't really know what to say. He's not much of a thinker, and his plan was basically to find Zayn, to somehow convince him that they should travel together. Now that he has, he isn't entirely sure what to do. 

(He's scared he'll make a fool of himself and Zayn will wonder why he's ever agreed to let him come with, and more importantly, how he'll get rid of him)

Zayn looks at him, sliding down in his seat to lightly kick at Liam's ankle. “Relax, Li.” He smiles at him, sticking his hands in his pockets and wiggling to make himself comfortable. “You don't always need to know what to do, yeah?”

Liam nods, tries to relax, but he's still trying to make himself comfortable a few minutes later, puttering about in his seat, unzipping his jacket and taking it off, only to put it back on, claiming it's a bit chilly (it is). Zayn just watches him, which doesn't make it better but it doesn't make it worse, at least until Zayn snorts and kicks at his ankle again, threatens “don't make me sit on you to get you to behave.”

He snorts in response, words out before he knows it. “Think that might have the opposite effect, really,” Liam wiggles his eyebrows and gets rewarded with a lovely rich laugh.

“There you are,” Zayn says it fondly, dark eyes twinkling.

Liam smiles and settles in, thinking _yeah. Here I am._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back :D finally. Inbetween recovery from surgery and daily life, I've also randomly and quite suddenly ended up moving, so hence the long wait. But I'm settled in now, so have a chapter of, um, well, Liam having somewhat of a break down xD

Liam hasn't checked his phone in days, he realizes, when he empties out his pockets later that night. It's partially on purpose, since he knows he has upset and maybe even frightened his friends and family, but it's also - 

it's been liberating. Focusing on himself. Not caring about anyone else's opinions. Except for Zayn's. But Zayn .. Liam wants to impress Zayn, but he feels like all he needs for that to happen is to be himself. Flawed, stupid, scared Liam Payne still manages to impress Zayn, and he's never met anyone that's so easy to get along with.

Not that Zayn doesn't have his flaws. He smokes too much and he hates waking up early and he pretends not to have a care in the world, but underneath that, Liam knows, is a soft, gentle person with one of the biggest hearts Liam's ever had the fortune of meeting. He's seen him doodle in one of the three notebooks that he takes wherever they go, and from what he could see before Zayn covered the page, he's an artist.

 

(Liam's asked him what the three books were for, on the train. Zayn looked at him for a long moment, or maybe _through_ him, before answering. Liam wondered if he'd say they weren't important, but he knows they both know it'd be a lie. Zayn eventually tells him.

One is for drawings. Anything that he'll see that inspires him. Things he's seen before that he draws from memory. Liam wonders if he's in there.

Another is for their experiences. Zayn writes in it every evening, and it's the thickest by far, because every ticket stub, every memento they've gathered on this trip is in there. Liam _knows_ he's in there.

The third, Zayn tells him, with somewhat of a sheepish smile, is everything he thinks that he can't say. It's his thoughts, his feelings, his desires, his fears. It's the one he has never shown anyone, he says, and Liam is curious, naturally so, but he doesn't blame Zayn for never leaving it unattended. Even if he wants to know if he's in there, Liam knows he'd never betray Zayn's trust and have a look, if he did leave it lying around.)

 

Zayn is in the shower now – they opted for a proper hotel room for the night, because after the train ride and the long walk through Paris, they both felt like having some privacy, and a decent shower – and Liam debates for a moment, before rummaging through his bag to find his charger.

It takes a moment for his phone to light up, the battery fully drained as he'd expected (smartphones are useful, he won't deny that, but damn, they run out of battery fast), and Liam leaves it on the dresser as he grabs whatever he needs for when it's his turn in the shower.

The noises – messages – come pouring in then, and he finds himself stiffening, unwilling to look at the list of people he's disappointed, _yet again_.

(He's so tempted to turn off his phone, but he can't keep running away, he knows that.)

He ignores the messages from Ruth and Nicola, deletes the voice mails without listening, and taps out a quick message in their family WhatsApp.

_I'm fine I'm in Paris don't worry about me_

_I don't know when I'm coming back so don't ask_

_I love you all_

_I'm sorry_

He turns off his Internet before any of them can respond, and then checks through the list of messages people have left him.

Niall just sent one, and when Liam reads it, he smiles. No matter what happens, Niall seems to be the one person on his side.

(It reads _good luck wherever you're going bro, hope you find what you're looking for. Have a beer on me_ )

Louis, in contrast, has sent a veritable app-bomb, over 27 messages since he left. They range from insults to (Liam's sure, drunk late night) _I miss you_ 's and _be safe's_.

The thing that takes him by surprise is Dani's messages. Liam feels his stomach lurch when his messenger program tells him he's got two unread app's from her, and the urge to turn off his phone and throw it in a corner has never been stronger.

_Liam, come back home,_ the first one reads, and it's dated four days and three hours ago.

The second one is more recent, sent only six hours and seven minutes ago – Liam's not sure if that's taking into account the time difference, or why he's even considering that. Maybe it's because focusing on unimportant details makes him feel less .. less _everything_.

_I want you back. Don't be ridiculous. Come home._

 

He wants to – he's not sure. Scream. Cry. Kick something. Fly back to her right this second and stay as far away from her as he can. She's toxic, she's the reason he's gone and he _hates_ her.

(He loves her. Still. Maybe always will. And that's, that's part of the reason he's gone because he's so tired of being this boy. Being this stupid little lovesick puppy that perks up at the smallest hint of affection. That's so starved for anything good that _don't be ridiculous, come home_ sounds like _I love you too, I'm so sorry_.)

He sits there, with his phone in his hands, the sky changing color around him, and he doesn't hear anything but the rush of thoughts whirring in his head, snippets leaking out, her laughter, her moans, and it feels like he can't breathe, like nothing can cut through this, and it's exactly how he felt before he ran away, before he took what she said to be true – _you're such a coward, Liam, Christ –_ and left, and this is why he left, but he can't escape this.

He can't escape himself, and running away was stupid, she's right. It's ridiculous. What is he going to gain from this? How is he going to change when he can't even face what he's left behind, when all he's doing is ignoring the increasingly louder thoughts in his head and trying to drown them out by implanting new memories into his brain?

It's the adult, filled-with-proper-cultural-visits-and-therefore-allowed-and-even-admired version of sticking his fingers in his ears and going LALALALALALA.

How is this going to make him a better person? How – is it even possible? Is he ever going to be a better person? Or is this it? Is he just going to be this sad, pathetic human being that everyone looks down on, that's forever disappointing everyone?

Maybe he should go back and prove them wrong.

Or maybe he should stay right here. Maybe he should make a new life for himself. Right here. Or, anywhere, that's away from the people that are supposed to love him. He could do it. Maybe.

He's pretty sure he could do it as long as he's got Zayn, but how long til Zayn is going to get sick of him too? How long until Zayn will look at him the way Dani did, with sometimes-pity-and-sometimes-resentment? People that claim to love him, yet throw it in his face that there's not very much to love about him.

Maybe he should just leave him too, before he fucks Zayn up. Because isn't that what Dani said, before? That he's toxic? That he makes good people do bad things? Because he's selfish and he wants too much and he holds people to standards that they can never achieve (and doesn't that sound familiar, coming from her lips), and he shouldn't do that to Zayn. He shouldn't make him suffer the way others have suffered, simply by knowing him.

 

That's it then. He's not coming back. But he's not staying here either. Zayn might think the world of him now, but he won't in a few weeks, and as much as it'll hurt Liam to leave now, he'd rather leave while Zayn still wants him here, than outstay his welcome and taint his memories. 

He wants to be Liam-who-lights-up-his-world-like-nobody-else. Liam-a-living-breathing-screaming-invitation-to-believe-better-things. But he can't be either of those things. He can't even be Liam, really. It's been so long since he's been anything that other people wanted that he's not too sure he even knows himself. And isn't that, ultimately, why he left? To find out who he is?

How can he do that, how can he _ever_ aspire to do that, when he's so busy trying to be what Zayn wants?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves sheepishly* hi?
> 
> I don't know if anyone's still reading this but um. I'm back. Sort of. Still having a sucky body but I missed writing so much I said fuck it. So yeah, um, I hope anyone's reading and enjoys :)

Of course, before he can do something as smart (or stupid, considering how you look at it) as actually act on his plans, Zayn walks out of the bathroom, hair matted to his head and a smile on his face that rapidly disappears when he sees the look in Liam's eyes. “Li?” He asks, and Liam wishes desperately that he wasn't so horribly transparent, that he could pretend everything was fine until he has found a safe place to fall apart.

(Not that Zayn isn't a safe place. Zayn is probably the safest place he knows, which is amazing and unfortunate, because Liam has a tendency to ruin things. The more important they are, the more he'll wreck them, because Dani – Dani used to be great. And if she isn't now, it's his fault. Somehow. He's not sure how, but he knows that it's true)

“I-,” he starts, but what's there to say. Except maybe sorry, but he's not sure he can explain what he's sorry for, and Zayn might argue with him, and he'd be all kinds of lovely and insistent and just .. he deserves better. Because it's not like what happened to him is a Big Deal of any kind, tons of people live through it and they don't fucking run off to another country, and Liam _is_ a big coward. 

Zayn frowns, foregoes clothes in favor of sitting next to Liam on the bed in just his towel, his hand gingerly touching Liam's back as though he's afraid he's going to bolt. Liam thinks that might be fair. “I told you I had pictures of me in drag, right?” He says, and it's Liam's turn to frown at how completely random that is.

He glances at Zayn, who smiles at him, and Liam refuses to examine how that makes his lungs feel less constricted. “Yeah?” He asks, and Zayn smiles again, nods, as though he's happy Liam's not asking any questions. Liam's happy Zayn's not asking any questions, either, and it isn't lost on him that Zayn is doing that on purpose. That he's giving him space, time to calm down, that he doesn't force Liam to talk about something just because everyone always says that's the right thing to do. 

(He hopes it's that. Hopes it's not that Zayn feels he doesn't have the right to ask. Somewhere along the way, Liam thinks Zayn's become the one person that does.)

“Wanna see 'em?”

 

Zayn is right. He does make a hell of a woman, though Liam can't help but find it a little .. strange. Sure, it was Halloween, and sure, tons of men drag it up for Halloween, but, they're usually all huge fake boobs and over the top make-up. Zayn actually looks like he could pass for a girl, and it's .. Liam doesn't want to say weird, because he doesn't want to offend Zayn, but. “Weren't you worried?”

“Worried about what?” Zayn asks, brushing his hair away from his ear, from where he was close enough to Liam that his skin is a little damp now too, small droplets of water having run down Zayn's neck and transferred over to his shoulder. It's nice. Being close enough to have this. He wonders if it's weird to notice that. 

(Zayn's right, he thinks too much)

“What people might think of you?” He makes a face at his words, apology on his tongue, or maybe an explanation, though he's not sure what he'd say. What is there to say? It might be offensive, but it is what he means, isn't it?

Zayn doesn't bristle, just looks at him thoughtfully. “What's the worst they could think? That I'm comfortable with myself?”

He makes it sound so easy, and Liam has a world of thoughts and feelings that protest that simplicity, but he's pretty sure anything he could say right now would be offensive, and, well, as much as he wants to leave Zayn, he doesn't want Zayn to leave him. “That you're-”

“A fag?”

Liam cringes at the easy way Zayn uses that slur. Is reminded of high school and being picked on, being weird in a way that apparently people (jocks) associated with being gay.

“I am,” Zayn continues, completely calm, “I'm gay and I'm Muslim, and there's plenty of people who think there's something wrong with both.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I just choose not to bother with those people. I can only live life for _me_ , yeah?”

It's admirable, how unfazed Zayn is by all of this. How he just owns what he is and what he feels, makes no apologies for himself. Liam's awfully glad that he's here. That he gets to witness this, witness what he'd love to be. He wishes he could be as comfortable with himself as Zayn is. Not that he's gay, or anything, but. He's never really felt good enough in his own skin. He's kind of jealous.

“And your family?” He asks softly, wondering if they are as accepting of Zayn as he is of himself. Not that there's anything wrong with his own family. His parents are lovely, they're not to blame for his lack of self esteem. 

Zayn looks at him. “What about my family?”

“Are they – do they think there's something wrong with it?”

He's not sure why he's asked him that, and apparently Zayn isn't either, because he looks at him, quiet, scrutinizing him. He parts his lips as though to ask him something, then seems to think better of it. Liam would love to know what's going on in his head, wonders if he thinks that maybe Liam's gay, and he wants to tell him it's not that, he's not running away because he thinks his parents might not accept his sexuality, but he's not really sure how to say anything like that without coming across as potentially homophobic. It's not like he particularly cares. Louis is his best friend. And yes, he knows, having gay friends doesn't give you a get out of jail free card when it comes to homophobia, but in Liam's case it's honestly more that he somehow manages to say the complete wrong thing when he really doesn't mean to.

“Forget it,” he says instead, smiles at him, “thanks.” It feels like a cop out, but he is grateful that Zayn's managed to distract him, even if he's still not a hundred percent sure staying is the right idea. But he can figure it all out later, he thinks, when he's managed to make Zayn smile again, because despite him not answering the question or seeming too fazed about anything, he thinks he's managed to touch on a sore subject. “Dinner?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liam's so confused poor little baby.

Zayn's quiet throughout dinner. Which wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary if this was day one, but it's not. And Liam's come to know that Zayn, for as quiet and introvert as he seems, can spend hours talking once you get him going on a subject that's dear to his heart. Liam only has to think back on Madurodam to know that, to be reminded of how vocal Zayn can be when he cares about something. Now, he's just quiet, not entirely listless but more or less pushing his food around his plate, and that's just – they're in Paris. They're supposed to be dead excited. Zayn's supposed to beg him to visit the artists' quarter and get their portraits painted or caricatures done at the Place du Tertre. Liam's not sure what to do about it though. Isn't sure what caused it, though he has a horrible feeling that it's something he's done.

(Then again, Liam _usually_ thinks that it's something he's done. Even when it's absolutely not. Even when it's almost literally impossible for it to be his fault. He'll find a way.)

He knows Zayn believes Liam's a better person than he actually is, but Liam would really like it to stay that way. So if this _is_ something he's done, then, well, he'd better fix it. Even if he's not sure how to, when he's not sure it's something he's done.

“Zayn?” It's soft, and yet Zayn almost startles, drops his fork that he's been absently dragging through the spaghetti sauce on his plate, blinks up at him with those big hazel eyes. Liam almost wants to apologize.

Zayn beats him to it. “Sorry Li,” he smiles, and it's so self-deprecating that Liam wants to reach over the table and hug him. Or ruffle his hair. But Zayn might kill him for that. Not the hugging, but, he's pretty particular over his hair. Liam might not be awfully happy with his life right now, but it's still better than imminent death.

“It's okay,” he tells him, smiling, though he's not even sure why Zayn's apologizing. Then, Zayn might not know why Liam would feel like apologizing. So he supposes that works out somehow. “You don't need to act happy if you're not.” He could do with taking his own advice, he thinks.

Zayn smiles back at him, small but genuine, puts his fork down and reaches over the table to squeeze Liam's hand. “You're amazing Li. I'm glad you're here.”

From there on out, he seems to make more of an effort to be engaging and charming, and Liam tries to ignore the feeling that he wishes he wouldn't. That he'd believe him when he said he didn't need to be okay, didn't need to fake anything. He wishes they were the kind of friends that could just be themselves. That everything didn't feel so forced right now, and he knows at least half of that is him, that he's the one that thinks too much and analyses too much and he's definitely the one that feels like he always has to try to make an impression, that being himself isn't good enough, but. Zayn shouldn't feel that way. Zayn shouldn't _ever_ feel that way.

 

Part of Liam had expected the weirdness to continue, but the next morning, after a good night's sleep, everything seems so much different. Liam doesn't even feel so much like running anymore. Waking up, seeing Zayn with his eyes scrunched closed to keep out the sunlight that's filtering through threadbare curtains, Liam's suddenly glad to be here. Glad to put everything about home in the back of his mind.

(He leaves his phone untouched on the night stand)

“Wake up!” He singsongs in Zayn's ear, careful to duck out of reach when Zayn's predictable response is to swat at him. “Wake up, c'mon Zee, it's a beautiful day, we're in _Paris_ , you don't want to miss that, do you?”

Zayn groans, mutters something under his breath that Liam's not even sure is English, and blinks one eye open. It looks rather murderous, and Liam can't help but laugh. “You're obnoxiously chipper in the morning,” Zayn grumps, pushing himself up on one elbow before reconsidering, and flopping back down onto his bed.

Liam laughs again. “Would you like me to be sad and mopey?” He teases, contemplating sneaking his fingers underneath Zayn's blanket, but he's not sure he'd come away with his hands intact. “C'monnnnnn.”

“Paris will still be here tomorrow,” Zayn complains, sighing contentedly at his bed, actually rubbing his cheek against the pillow. “This bed, will not.” They've agreed to find some place more affordable, and Zayn had teased Liam about being so sensible, even if he had agreed.

Liam bites his lip. He kind of wants to push Zayn, because Zayn told him that he will literally spend his entire day in bed if no one forces him out of it, and Zayn kind of told him that he could do the same if he wanted to, but he doesn't like pushing people. Liam's always reasoned that if they said no, it meant no. No wasn't some bargaining point to try and see if you could get to a yes. And maybe in this case it's different, but, what if Zayn gets mad at him?

He's quiet, long enough that Zayn opens his eyes again, stares at him from where he's huddled under blankets, his hair fanned out over the pillow. “Li,” he murmurs, and it sounds somewhat sad, not disappointed, but just a little..

“Sorry,” Liam whispers quickly, pushing himself up from his knees, “sorry, I just, I don't mean to-”

Before he can retreat though, Zayn sighs, though it comes out as more as a growl. He pushes away his blankets, but, as it turns out, only to free an arm, which he uses to grab Liam's elbow, yanking him onto the bed. Liam's surprised enough that he doesn't protest, not until Zayn's manhandled him under the covers, his leg thrown over Liam's body and a hand resting on his chest. Its pressure is light, but enough to insist that he stays. “Stay,” Zayn whispers, just in case his actions weren't clear enough, his head pillowed onto Liam's shoulder. “Stop thinking. Stop apologizing. You're giving me a headache.”

“Sor-”

“I swear to God, Leeyum,” Zayn groans, swatting tiredly at his chest. “Stop trying to fix things that aren't broken. Live a little.”

Liam huffs. “I thought I was.”

“You thought wrong.”

“So sleeping is living?” He asks, and he's pretty sure they're not arguing, even if Zayn doesn't really sound like he's joking either. But this question at least earns him a sniff that's more amused than disdainful. And that's all the response he gets, before Zayn's breath evens out, tickling his shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

There's something nice about this. _Intimate_. Liam's not sure that's the right word for it, for two blokes sharing a bed, isn't sure how he feels about intimate being the best word to describe the situation nevertheless. Zayn's asleep, breathing gently onto his skin, his head pillowed on his shoulder and his leg thrown over his body. Liam doesn't feel trapped, but he thinks he should.

Because it's not, it's not very normal, is it? He's shared a bed with Lou before, but that was after nights spent talking, and they always kept to their own side of the bed. Niall's passed out on top of his comforter once, but they didn't _snuggle_.

Zayn snuggles. And Liam thinks that might be a problem. Should be a problem. Because Zayn's gay, and, well, he doesn't want him getting the wrong impression. Because Liam's not. He's very very much not gay, has got an ex to prove it.

(Then again, so does Louis, and Liam's honestly not sure why his brain chooses to remind him of that)

It kind of weirds him out, how much this doesn't weird him out.

Warmth seeping into his bones, from the blanket and the body pressed smoothly to his, Liam eventually finds his eyelids drooping, finds himself succumbing to sleep, thinking Zayn's right, Paris will still be here tomorrow. But this bed, _this_ , won't be.

 

He blinks awake what feels like only minutes later, finds Zayn looking down at him sleepily, a little confused as to what Liam's doing in his bed. Oddly enough, Liam feels like apologizing, when Zayn's the one that dragged him in. “Hi..” Zayn says slowly, rubs at his eyes and blinks as though that'll magically solve whatever's got him so confused. “Did I-?”

Liam doesn't know why he's blushing. “You, um, refused to get up.”

“So you got into bed with me?”

It doesn't sound like Zayn's accusing him of anything, but Liam still finds himself protesting, wonders why his body is so treacherous, refusing to let him scramble out of bed, wanting to hold onto that moment of peace he experienced in Zayn's arms. “You kind of dragged me,” he says, softly, almost apologetic.

“Oh.” Zayn blinks at him again, face still blank for a second before he kind of grimaces, looks away, and Liam – he wonders if it's really that awful, to wake up next to him. Swallows down the question and just nods, mutely. “Shit,” Zayn says, and Liam can only nod to that too.

“'s ok,” he mutters, at the same time that Zayn asks a tentative “Did I come onto you?”

It's his turn to blink. “Huh?”

He's pretty sure Zayn was awake, coherent enough to insult him and manhandle him under the covers, he's pretty sure he remembers what happened. Doesn't he?

“I mean,” Zayn says slowly, and he sounds more awake now, sounds like he's piecing things together, foggy memories from earlier that morning. “I didn't. I know I didn't. But, you might think I did?” He shrugs a shoulder. “I'm not. I mean. I wouldn't blame you if you thought – but just because I'm gay, I don't -”

Liam interrupts him, and Zayn almost looks relieved that he gets cut off from his ramble. “I didn't,” he says softly, trying to meet his eyes and Zayn does, though Liam's quick to look away once he's established eye contact. “I didn't think you were hitting on me.” There's a slight, awkward pause. “I thought you might've  _hit_ me, but, I should know better than to come between you and your sleep. 's an epic love story, that.”

(It's not one of Liam's best jokes.

Thankfully, Zayn still laughs.)

 

After a long shower, Zayn announces that he feels moderately more human, and after a cigarette, he drags Liam out onto the streets of Paris for some breakfast and a cup of coffee. Their hotel, expensive as it was, isn't too far from one of the many quaint shopping streets the city has to offer, and they don't have to walk far before encountering a café that has mismatched little tables and chairs outside, for those wanting to soak up the feeble March sun. 

They keep their jackets on, peruse a menu that's solely in French, and Liam wishes he'd taken languages in school, but then he'd never expected to really travel. At least not in the way that he does now. He might've expected a honeymoon in Paris, but he would've had time to prepare, would've brought a dictionary or something. 

Zayn stubbornly reads through the menu though Liam's pretty sure he understands as much as he does, finds himself looking at his mouth when he's spelling out unfamiliar words, trying to wrangle them into something recognizable.

They end up ordering chocolate croissants and large coffees, and maybe it's because they're in Paris and the sun's shining and Liam has somehow managed to hold onto a little bit of that peaceful feeling that he experienced when Zayn was asleep on his shoulder, but he's pretty sure it's the best meal he's had in his life.

 

Once all that's left of their breakfast is little pieces of chocolate and flakes of pastry, once Zayn's smoked another cigarette (politely asking the waitress, in English and hand signals and s'il vous plaît and merci, if it was okay to smoke a cigarette, and Zayn's so considerate that way) and they've left a tip that Liam would be uncomfortable with (because he is going to need that money, but he doesn't want to look cheap to Zayn) if Zayn hadn't smiled at him, crinkles and all, they finally make their way further into the city. It's a nice day, and rather than spending it cooped up in the Louvre, which Liam knows Zayn's dying to see, or the Notre Dame, they decide to buy a map in one of the souvenir shops scattered throughout the city. They spend a good five minutes scrutinizing it, debating on where to go and not really able to come to an agreement, before Zayn shrugs his shoulder, carefully folding the map back up and sticking it in his pocket. “Let's just forget about the map, and get lost,” he says, and Liam's first instinct is to protest, though he sees the glint in Zayn's eyes and takes it as the challenge he knows it is.

“Yeah,” he agrees, much to Zayn's delight. “Let's.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errrrrrr, hi? 
> 
> It's been ages, and I'm so sorry! To be honest, after Zayn left the band it was really hard for me to find the muse to write, and my body has been as pleasant as ever, and it all got me into a funk where I wanted to write but couldn't find the muse to. But then the lovely Liss helped me find my way back to this story. So, after three years, I finally planned to finish this.
> 
> I also want to say a major major thank you to everyone who's read along and commented so far, and in particular to spxde who left me possibly the sweetest and most inspiring comment I've ever had the pleasure to receive. I am so sorry I didn't respond to it in person, I was overwhelmed and didn't know what to say. But it was massively appreciated, and I hope you see this!

He really doesn't care for Paris. It's a shame, because it's pretty, but there's too many tourists, and everything is loud, and crowded, and they've been standing in line for an _hour_ to get into the Louvre. And it's raining. Liam knows that back home the weather won't be all that much better, but, he did get away to, y'know. Escape. Not necessarily the weather, but still. 

Zayn's quiet beside him, leaning against him because he's still sleepy and Liam almost envies him his ability to fall asleep anywhere, because he's pretty sure Zayn's two minutes from taking a kip on his shoulder. He's pretty sure they haven't moved in ten minutes, and his legs are starting to ache a bit, but he doesn't want to switch his weight from one foot to the other because Zayn might take that as a sign to move away. 

It's not that he's not bothered, it's just, he doesn't mind it. 

All the same, he's relieved when they get to move up a bit in the queue, and Zayn cheers quietly as they shuffle forward a few steps. “This is going to take forever,” he sighs softly, and Liam nods, acknowledges his statement with a sigh that has Zayn shifting to look at him, frowning. “We could-” he starts, and Liam stops him. 

“Nah,” he smiles at him. “You wanted to visit. So.”

Zayn just watches him for a moment. “Yeah, but-” he starts, cuts himself off this time. He bites his lip, then smiles. “Alright. Ticket's on me though.” 

Liam smiles back at him. _If we ever get inside_ , he thinks, but doesn't say it. Judging by the way the side of Zayn's mouth curls up into a smile, he doesn't have to.

 

About an hour or so later (probably not a full hour, but it certainly _feels_ that way) they finally get inside, and while Liam's never been a huge fan of museums (musea?) and art in general, he can't help but be charmed. It's probably more to do with the fact that Zayn's bouncing on his feet though, glancing around like he can't figure out where to go first. 

They end up following a tour guide, for about half the tour, and then Zayn sneaks his hand in Liam's and drags him off to another room. It's not necessarily quieter there than with the group, but it's nice, getting the chance to look at the paintings. That is, when someone isn't elbowing him out of the way to get a better look. He ends up looking more at Zayn than at the actual art framed on the walls, but that's ok. He doesn't appreciate it the way Zayn does anyway, but the way he can see him light up, watches him be enraptured by a particularly nice piece (or so Liam assumes), he can kind of see the beauty of the paintings through him.

His feet are killing him when they finally get back outside, and it's nice to breathe fresh air, rather than the stuffy recycled air inside the museum. Zayn must think so too, because he doesn't even light a cigarette, just breathes in and beams at Liam, says his name so fondly that Liam wonders what he did. It must show on his face, because Zayn gives him another of those crinkly eyed smiles. “Thanks,” he says softly. “For coming with.”

He thinks there's not a lot of places he won't follow him, if it makes Zayn look like that.

 

They eat overpriced food at a restaurant with a snobby waiter, trying to figure out where to go tomorrow when Zayn looks at him, contemplating. “You're not a big city kind of guy, are you?” he asks, and Liam takes a moment to think about that. 

“I'm not sure what kind of guy I am,” he says earnestly, and smiles, like that isn't the root of all of his problems. “Why?”

Zayn shrugs. “We did what I wanted today, even if it wasn't your kinda thing. I figured – you followed me to Paris because that's where I was headed,” (Liam thinks he doesn't really like how that's phrased, even if Zayn's smile is mild, and even a little fond), “but I don't want to be selfish, yeah? So. We could, y'know. Leave?”

Somehow, that's a novel concept. Leaving. When in reality, that's all he's done in the past two weeks. Honestly though, if it weren't for Zayn, Liam's not sure where he'd be. He might have gone back home. He might still be in Amsterdam. He knows he'd be more in his head than he is now, that's for sure. And he'd plan. For as much as this trip had been about breaking free, he feels infinitely more at ease when he's got a schedule to follow. Even if it is an arbitrary plan, he likes knowing where he's going to wake up tomorrow, what he's going to do. Zayn humors him in it, but Liam knows that he is happy to just grab his bag and see where the day takes him. He wonders sometimes if he's holding him back. Wonders if that's why he was so adamant on going with him to the Louvre, even when he knows Zayn wouldn't have minded if he had told him to go in on his own. He wants to show Zayn that he – he's not sure. But he can't forget the curve of his mouth that first day in the car rental. _Live a little still_ taunts him sometimes, though in a sense he's grateful for it. 

“Do you want to?” he asks him, after a moment's pause. Zayn smiles.

“Do you?” he parrots, and Liam can't resist making a face at him. “I mean it,” Zayn says mildly, “I don't want to be selfish.”

“You're not,” Liam assures him, and the same words are on his tongue, but Zayn shakes his head.

“You're not either, Li,” he says fondly, and Liam smiles. 

“Alright,” he says, after a moment's deliberation. “Let's leave, yeah. That sounds good. I mean. Paris is-” it's the city where Danielle said she wanted Liam to propose to her. Under the Eiffel tower. It's romantic, and she had had it all planned out, and he just feels funny, being here. He's not with the person he expected to be with, and he's not the person he expected to _be_. He's not sure that's bad, really, but still. Paris is like a t-shirt in winter. It fits, but it isn't enough. It doesn't feel complete. 

He wonders if it'll ever feel complete. Without her. If he's forever going to feel out of place. But Zayn smiles at him, nods like Liam put all his thoughts into words, and Liam pauses. He doesn't feel so out of place with Zayn. 

And frankly, that terrifies him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely people who left kudos on this fic, and the people who commented! Comments are definitely appreciated, so feel free to say hi!

Paris, Liam will probably only fully realize once they've left, is _rushed_. It's much faster than even Amsterdam was, and he's not sure why that is, when they're both capitals. Maybe it's something about the Dutch, though they're not necessarily known as the friendliest of people. They had seemed more laid back than the ones inhabiting the French capital. Honestly, Liam was rather reminded of ants in one of those ant farms, always busy even when he can't figure out what with or why. Or maybe it's just that everyone has a life, and places to get to, plans and steps to follow, and Liam, for the first time in his life, doesn't.

 It's strange, and it makes him sorta jittery, and he's tempted to switch his phone back on but truthfully, he's not sure he's ready for what he'll find.

(Will Danielle have texted him again? Will she apologize this time? Does he want her to?)

He tries not to think about it, tries to take this trip one day at a time, and not worry about when money is going to run out (soon) or where they're going to go next. Some place remote, maybe, they agreed on, but other than that they haven't figured it out. By the time they get to their room and pack up their stuff, all Liam knows is that Zayn is as eager to leave Paris as he is. Or at least, pretends to be. He wants to think he knows Zayn well enough by now, but he's still stuck on how he said he didn't want to be selfish, and Liam wonders if this is his way of not being selfish. By offering him a chance to escape whatever it is he can't run from in Paris, and going with him.

With everything stuffed in his bag and nothing to do, Liam sits on his bed and watches Zayn rummage around in his bag, trying to fit in his clothes and his three notebooks, and Liam's never wanted to read them more than he does now. It's the next best thing to reading his mind.

It's like Zayn can tell that there's something on his mind, or maybe Liam's just been staring at him so hard that it was actually something he could feel, because he pauses halfway through trying to force a shirt into a tiny space, and turns towards him. “Li?”

He quickly looks away, and Zayn laughs. Only Zayn can laugh at him without making it feel like he's laughing at him. “C'mon,” he says, sitting down and forgetting about his bag for now, “out with it. Or I'm gonna make you help me pack.”

Liam makes a face at that, remembering when they packed up to leave Amsterdam. It's not an experience he much cares to repeat. “There's no need to _threaten_ me,” he says petulantly, but he's smiling regardless. Zayn just shrugs, and beams at him innocently. Which. _Rude_. “Do you still want to be here?”

Zayn frowns. “Here in Paris or here with you?”

 _Either_ , Liam thinks, but he can't really make himself say it. He figures a shrug gets the message across though. And it does, because he can see Zayn nod, though it doesn't feel like an answer. “It's just,” he starts slowly, carefully, “you said, earlier, that we went to Paris because you wanted to and I followed you here, and that you don't want to be selfish and I just-” he pauses for a second, “would you stay here, if it weren't for me?”

Zayn, thankfully, doesn't just brush it off. Considers Liam's words, and Liam finds himself holding his breath, scared that he'll tell him he would be, scared that he'll realize he still wants to be, even without Liam. He wonders if Zayn would let him tag along, because being with him in Paris is better than being alone somewhere else. Which, he doesn't need to remind himself, was about the opposite of what this trip was about. It was about finding himself, and being stronger, being better. Not following someone else around like a dazed little pup.

 _I just want you to like me_ he thinks desperately.

“I don't know,” Zayn says eventually. “If you haven't noticed by now, Li, I'm kind of shit at planning.” He smiles, and it's that sort of self deprecating smile that Liam's seen all too often in the mirror. “I'm good at running away. But the staying away, and figuring out where to go from here, that's not, I'm not very good at that part.”

It's the first time Zayn's called it running away, rather than insisting that it was just a holiday. Liam wonders what he's running from. He also knows this is not the right time to ask.

“I don't want to go home.” Zayn continues quietly. “So, anywhere's good, Liam.” (There he goes again, calling him _Leeyum_ ) He shrugs. “Just because I might've stayed in Paris without you doesn't mean I don't want to go. I just want to not be where I was.”

 _In life_ , Liam adds mentally, agreeing with what Zayn's said. He doesn't want to be where he was either. Or _who_ he was. Even if Zayn seems to like him. Enough to tag along or let him tag along on his own run from everything that he logically knows they can't avoid forever. A change in scenery doesn't fix everything. But it doesn't mean they can't try. And at the very least, enjoy the brief respite from the real world.

And Liam knows he would enjoy it a whole lot more someplace other than Paris.

 

After a quick breakfast the following morning, they board a train. It'll take them to the southeast, to the region of Rhône-Alpes, though to get to someplace more remote they'll probably need to take a few trains and buses, a friendly girl at the station warned them. Liam doesn't mind much. He likes traveling by train well enough, especially once they're outside of Paris and he gets to see all the beautiful landscape rolling by. 

Zayn, the artist, is asleep, cheek smushed against the window.

A long day of traveling later, they end up in a small village, its name promptly forgotten when Liam stumbles into the charming, quaint (meaning _small_ ) little bed and breakfast that's been pointed out to them when they asked for a place to crash for the night. The downside about being so far away from any big cities is that not everyone speaks English, but they make do with hand motions and the translating app on Zayn's phone.

The room is pretty ghastly, all done up with flowers and frilly curtains, and some things seem to have been lost in translation, because there's only one bed. Liam looks at it dubiously, but Zayn just stumbles forward and crashes onto it, already half asleep, making an awkward attempt at toeing his shoes off. Looking around, he can't really find anywhere else to comfortably sleep for the night – he'd attempt the bathroom, but they share that with the other residents, and the one chair in this room is out, unless he plans to leave their luggage out in the hallway – but he stands there awkwardly for long enough for Zayn to notice, and snort.

“Get in bed, you tosser,” he lets out, only he sounds so sleepy it takes Liam a few seconds to decipher what he's saying. Long enough for Zayn to toss a frilly, pink, smelling-like-lavender pillow at his head.

Liam lets out a sound when it hits him. “Is that how you treat all the boys you're sleeping with?” Zayn lets out a weak laugh in response, and actually manages to shift a little, so he's not face planted over both their sides. Liam watches him pat the space next to him, refusing to admit he's endeared by the way he curls himself around his pillow. “And they say romance is dead.” He teases.

“Liam,” Zayn groans, opens one bleary eye to look at him. “I'll woo you all you want in the morning. Just. Get to bed.” Liam snorts in reply, stripping out of his clothes, and scooting under the covers. Zayn doesn't move, and Liam wonders if he's already fallen asleep.

“Good night Zayn.” It's whispered, just in case he is, and Liam chuckles when all he gets is a mumbled _shut up_ in response. He falls asleep with a smile.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liam's thoughts go in circles a lot. I hope it isn't boring to read, but he's really struggling with self esteem issues, and I wanted to do that justice.

_I'll woo you all you want in the morning, just, get to bed._ It might just be that Liam's definition of wooing is slightly different than Zayn's, but when he wakes up, and Zayn is snoring softly in his ear, and Liam is not only pillow-less but also blanket-free, he feels distinctly not-wooed.

Underwhelmed and underwooed, and he shoves at Zayn, who barely responds except to hog the blanket even more. Typical.

Liam huffs, glances around for a clock, finding that it's only seven in the morning, and _why_ is he awake. He tries to make himself comfortable, but it's not that warm without a blanket, even with Zayn pressed close to him, and it feels weird, curling into him for warmth.

So he sneaks out of the bed (not sure why he's sneaking in the first place, a bomb could go off next to Zayn and he wouldn't even twitch), and stumbles into the bathroom, bleary eyed and exhausted.

It's almost a surprise, to find his reflection smiling at him.

 

It's not until a few hours later that Zayn decides to grace the world with his presence, though the very first thing he does upon waking up is to groan and make grabby hands at Liam, and Liam's not sure why that is until he hears a soft grunted request for coffee.

He snorts, hands him the cup he'd been having. “I feel distinctly underwooed right now,” he says offhandedly, and Zayn only responds with a slightly confused _“mrr”._ He curls his hands around the mug and barely deigns to open his eyes, and Liam really should not be as fond of him as he is. This blanket-pillow-coffee stealing bed hogger.

“This coffee's shit,” Zayn decides after a while, and Liam snorts again.

“Didn't stop you from drinking it.”

“Caffeine,” Zayn says, like that explains it all (it does), and he rubs at his face, puts the mug on the bedside table. He opens his eyes then, and winces. “Fuck. I thought I might've dreamt just how hideous this place is.” He looks like he's contemplating closing his eyes again and going back to sleep, and it's funny how Liam knows all those things.

“Nope, wasn't a nightmare. And you're not the one who's been awake since seven this morning, staring up at the canopy,” Liam tells him pleasantly. Zayn doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed. Liam _really_ should not be as fond of him.

After a minute or so of silence, Zayn heaves a long sigh and finally bothers to do more than sit up. By which Liam means that he now sits up with his legs flung over the edge of the bed, toes brushing the carpet. Still. It's progress. “Ok,” Zayn manages, rubbing at his face again. “I need more coffee.”

“Thought you said it was shit.”

“Sometimes, Liam, one must do what is right, regardless of whether or not it's pleasant.”

Liam eyerolls so hard he's pretty sure Zayn can hear it. “Dunno who's more full of shit mate, you or that coffee.”

 

After two more cups of really bad coffee, and croissants that are surprisingly good, they head out of the bed and breakfast, leaving their bags behind. Liam only brings his camera, and Zayn brings one of his notebooks, and they wander around town for a while. It's a small town though, and they've soon seen most of it. As much as Liam wanted to escape Paris, he's not sure what to do _here_ , and there's an apology on his lips once or twice. He holds it back though, because as much as he worries that he's bothering (or boring) Zayn, he feels like he should maybe stop apologizing so much. Even if that goes against his nature, even if he wants Zayn to like him so much that he is willing to take responsibility for things that aren't his fault.

Zayn doesn't seem to be having such a bad time, but Liam's not entirely sure he isn't just faking it. For all that they seem to know each other, it really hasn't been that long. It's not something he wants to think too hard on though. The more he thinks about this, about what he's doing and why and what is going to happen and will Zayn end up being his friend – he keeps going in circles. It confuses and depresses him, and frankly, he's tired.

“Zayn,” he starts softly, and Zayn looks up at him, from where he was sketching a tree, perched on a small wall that surrounds what Liam thinks might be a park. “Do you-”

He's not sure what Zayn sees on his face, but his heart aches when he can hear him sigh and put away his notebook and his pencils. He gets up, heads on over to Liam, and Liam isn't sure if he feels better or worse when Zayn hugs him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into his shoulder, and Zayn rubs his back, doesn't say anything for a while.

When he does, he doesn't pull away, or let Liam do the same. “I don't know what happened, Li,” he says softly, “but it hurts when you're hurting. You're so – I don't get it? Why you're so insecure, why you think that I'm just putting up with you.” Liam feels almost chastised, like he should apologize, and Zayn squeezes him tighter. “Don't you remember what I said? You're an amazing guy, Li.”

_Yeah,_ Liam thinks, _but you said that in Amsterdam. Just because you meant it then doesn't mean you mean it now_. Instead he says “I think too much,” and it sounds like _I'm sorry_.

Zayn nods, pulls away enough to meet his eyes. “And I see too much, remember? So trust me, when I say that I see nothing that I want to run away from. I'm happy, Li, that I met you. I'm happy that I'm not alone because I'm not sure I could do this without you. And that's scary, because I don't like needing people. I don't like knowing that they could leave and I wouldn't be the same. That's why I have all those notebooks. Because it's easier to confess my secrets in there, and because once people leave me, I have something to hold onto. The memory of better times.” His eyes skitter away, like he's embarrassed, and Liam holds onto his elbow, squeezes it.

He swallows. “I don't like needing people either,” he says quietly. “Because I always need them more than they need me. Because I want more from them than they can give me, and I hold people to standards that they can't achieve and-” he doesn't know, anymore. He's just so _lost_.

Zayn frowns, stays quiet for a moment before enveloping him in a hug again. “I don't know who told you that, babes, but I've never felt like that. I know you hold yourself to standards that seem impossible, but you've never once made me feel like I needed to be anything other than who I am.”

Liam wants to believe that, so desperately.

 

They both feel a little awkward, after that impromptu heart to heart. Liam can tell that Zayn's not used to it, being so open about his feelings, feeling so vulnerable, and Liam isn't really either. Sure, he's got Louis, and they talk, a lot, but it's different. It's Louis. Liam's always felt like he was lucky to have him, and as long as Lou didn't ask, Liam didn't tell. And Lou doesn't pry. He sees a lot, Liam thinks, and he thinks Zayn might like him, because they're similar in a lot of ways. So he thinks Louis might know more of his insecurities than he might even be comfortable with.

He wonders if Louis knows how much he cares about him though. How scared he is to lose him. How much it matters, that Louis considers him his friend. He finds himself almost overwhelmed with how much he wants to tell him. When he tells Zayn this, the other man smiles, and his offer to go back to the bed and breakfast almost makes Liam want to cry.

He doesn't of course, or at least, not until he's on the phone with Lou, who spends the first minute and a half cussing him out, before his voice breaks and he tells him _I miss you, Li._ And all that courage that had gone out the window the moment Louis picked up comes rushing back and he tells him. How much he misses him too. How much he cares for him, and that he's scared he's not a good enough friend, and how shitty it is that he doubts himself because Louis has never given him any cause to doubt him. How sometimes he can't understand that someone as brilliant as Louis wants to be his friend, and if he thought he'd exhausted his sorry's with Zayn, he was mistaken.

It's not an easy conversation, by any means, but it's a good one. Because Louis lets him talk, and he is every bit the best friend that Liam feels he doesn't deserve. He's understanding and kind and wonderful, and for once, he doesn't joke around. Instead, he tells Liam all the things that he needed to hear. All the things that Zayn's said too. “I know I don't always say it, Li,” he says softly, “but I'm so lucky to have you, yeah?”

Liam cries, and Zayn pretends not to notice, though rather than continuing to write in his notebook, he reaches out and laces their fingers.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll be able to update next, as my birthday is in a few days, and I'll be going away for a few days as a birthday present next week, but in case I don't get to post until after the 22nd, here's something longer to tide you over :)

Things are easier, from there on out. It's like that one conversation eased not just Liam's worries but Zayn's too, because the next morning he doesn't threaten to decapitate Liam for waking him up. Instead he sits up, and only barely complains about the coffee, though he does tell him that he's not going to suffer through another day of shit coffee, not when the room's already so hideous. Liam's not sure if he means that they should move on, but Zayn just beams at him and tells him tomorrow morning, breakfast is on him.

Liam decides that that means today's breakfast is his treat, and Zayn doesn't complain. He doesn't take ages in the shower either, which Liam knows the other tenants will appreciate too. Within half an hour of waking, Zayn is dressed and ready to head out the door. Liam's pretty sure it's a record.

They find this cute little place they wandered past yesterday, and head inside, the morning chill settling under their clothes a bit too much to consider eating out on the terrace. Inside, the decoration is about as awful as at their bed and breakfast, and Zayn makes a face, nudges Liam. “I never knew the French had such awful taste in decoration.” He sounds honestly disappointed.

Liam wouldn't know the first thing about art, but he's pretty sure there's some good French painters or sculptors or whatnot, and he coaxes Zayn into telling him all about them, figuring it'll distract him at the very least. It works like a charm, but Zayn is not the only one distracted, as it turns out, though the server smiles when she finally gets their attention after the third not so discreet cough.

They order French toast, despite the fact that it isn't French (Zayn barely breathes between waxing poetically about Rodin and launching into an explanation about how French toast got its name, and that it's been dated back to Roman times) and more coffee, and this time, Zayn lets out a pleased grunt at the first taste. “Knew France wasn't all shit,” he says, curling his hands around the mug, and something about him is so content that it reminds Liam of a cat. One that's managed to find the last spot of sunlight, and has its eyes nearly closed.

If not for the lack of sunlight, Liam's not too sure Zayn wouldn't actually purr.

 

With breakfast demolished and more information on French artists than he'd ever care to remember (not that Liam had stopped Zayn from going on a tangent about them, he likes seeing him this way far too much), they head back out into the town. They'd discovered pretty much everything about it yesterday though, and after some aimless wandering, Liam nudges Zayn.

Who looks up and _scowls_. “I swear to God, Leeyum, if you start-” he sounds impatient, and it takes Liam a moment to catch up.

When he does, he snorts. “I know we're in France, mate, but I can do without the deja-vu, yeah?” Zayn has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, and Liam shouldn't savor it as much as he does. “I was gonna ask if there was something you wanted to do,” he continues, once he's relished in the slight blush on Zayn's face (perhaps a bit longer than he should have).

Zayn chews his bottom lip thoughtfully, cocking his head and eyeing Liam, almost critically. Once he's looked his fill, he glances around, looks up at the sky, their surroundings. He nods then, apparently having come to a decision in his head, but rather than saying anything, he slots his fingers in between Liam's, and starts pulling him in the direction of one of the town's vineyards.

“What-” Liam starts, but Zayn just shushes him, tugs him into a road leading out of town, barely looking backwards before he jumps over a low brick wall. Liam stumbles along with him, only narrowly avoiding crashing into him when he jumps over the wall too, still holding onto Zayn's hand.

He's pretty sure they're not allowed to be here, but Zayn is insistent, tugging him through rows and rows of mostly leaveless vines, until they're so far in that Liam can't remember their way back, can't hear anything except Zayn's sudden, low laugh.

It's impossible not to grin back at him in response, and Liam only realizes just why Zayn brought him here when Zayn plops down on the ground and takes out his sketchbook. Liam settles next to him, smiles a bit, resigning himself to an afternoon of, well, not _boredom_ necessarily, but just nothingness. Watching Zayn sketch is a privilege, he knows, but he can't really talk to him, might as well talk to a brick wall for all that Zayn even hears him.

Still. It's worth it when it makes Zayn relax like that.

Despite the fact that it's not even too warm out, there's no wind, and the vines, even when they're only barely sporting leaves, hold in the warmth. It makes Liam a little sweaty, and he takes his hoodie off after a good fifteen minutes of sitting and watching Zayn sketch. He figured he was completely focused on his work, as always, but he's barely managed to pull the hoodie over his head before he realizes Zayn is looking at him.

It's always a bit unnerving, having Zayn's full attention on him when he's in this mood. When he doesn't just look at him the way a mate does, but as an artist. Keen eyes seem to see right through every defense Liam could possibly hope to throw up. He always wonders what Zayn sees, when he looks at him like that.

He fidgets, and Zayn, who had been on the verge of saying something, bites his lip. A breath or two passes, and then Zayn sighs, softly. “Li?”

Liam bites his lip too, not sure why he sounds so _fragile_. “Yeah?”

“Can I sketch you?”

He ducks his head, blushes, because he was wondering what Zayn sees, but he isn't sure he's ready to know. Still. Zayn thinks he's an amazing guy. Regardless of how much he sees, as a boy, as an artist, he thinks he's a good guy, worth roadtripping through Europe with. How bad can it be? “Yeah,” he says slowly, “ok.”

“Ok?” Zayn asks, and it's sweet, that he checks, obviously aware of Liam's discomfort. It makes him smile, nod.

“Yeah. I mean. I dunno how good of a model I'd be, I'm kind of shit at sitting still and doing nothing, but, sure.”

Zayn smiles back at him. “We can do a few warm up sketches if you want. Just quick things, then you can move about as much as you want, and it'll help me get a feel for you.” He offers, and Liam – Liam thinks of it as a challenge. Zayn's a fun guy, but he's never more serious than when he's sketching. It kind of reminds him of those big ass guards at Buckingham Palace, who don't crack a smile while on the clock. He wonders if he can change that. Can make him smile, when he's so focused, so in his element.

He ends up starting out fairly normal, sits there, knees drawn up to his chest, staring off into the distance so Zayn can sketch his profile. He sort of feels like a pretentious knob, but it's just a couple minutes, and then Zayn tells him to go ahead and change positions. He goes to sit indian style, facing Zayn, which makes for a few uncomfortable minutes, because Zayn's face is a complete blank when he looks up, and Liam can't help but wonder, suddenly, if his ears look weird.

After moving through a few positions, Liam stretches out, hoodie propped up behind his head. He moves his arms, gives Zayn a simpering look. “Draw me like one of your French girls.” He barely manages to get the words out without cracking up, and Zayn snorts, throws a pencil at his head in retaliation.

“Dumbass,” he says, and somehow it sounds like an endearment.

 

Practice sketches done, Zayn shuffles closer on his knees, looks at Liam for permission before he arranges him, and Liam blushes with how intimate it feels. It's not even that he's touching him inappropriately, but there's something about being moved just how Zayn wants him. “Stay still, ok?” Zayn breathes, and Liam wants to nod then doesn't, just hums in acknowledgment. Zayn smiles. “Just for a bit. Until I've got the rough shape done, and then you can move. I don't want you freezing up. Keep it relaxed, natural, yeah?”

The weird thing about being told to be relaxed and natural is that suddenly everything feels anything but. It's like he can't control his limbs anymore, and even breathing feels incredibly awkward when he's so conscious of holding his pose.

Zayn doesn't comment on it though, just sketches quickly, keen eyes flicking from Liam to the page and back. He's silent for a good fifteen minutes, then puts his sketchbook down, shaking out his hand, trying to relax his fingers. Liam holds his pose at first, then slumps gratefully when he's given the ok, makes a face. “I've never been so aware of, like, everything,” he notes.

It earns him a laugh. “You were pretty awkward,” Zayn teases, and he produces a bottle of wine from his bag (Liam's not sure where the hell he's gotten that from) that he opens up and offers to him with a grin. “Here. Maybe that'll get that stick out of your ass.”

Liam flips him off good naturedly.

 

Sketching turns into drinking the wine and trading lighthearted insults, and Liam's an even shittier model when he's tipsy, so rather than forcing him to sit for him again, Zayn caves and lets him drink.

And drink. And drink.

With the bottle finished, they venture back into town, giggly and tipsy and affectionate. Zayn's arm is slung around his waist, and when they're in line at the grocery store, Liam can't resist the urge to nuzzle slightly at Zayn's hair. It should feel weird, maybe, but nothing feels weird right now, and Liam's not sure if it's the alcohol or Zayn.

A bit of both, probably.

They do the responsible thing, and get some food with their wine, but by the time they stumble back into the b&b, climbing the stairs seems a daunting task, and Liam wonders out loud if perhaps the owner is a witch because he can swear these stairs are moving like they do at Hogwarts.

Zayn barks out a laugh, and Liam shushes him, because it's late, and he's responsible, and he should – something. He's not sure, when Zayn bites at his fingers the way he does. He wasn't even aware he'd actually physically shushed him, covering his mouth, but it's Zayn's fault when he's so close, though he's close because he's helping Liam up the stairs, and, _nice, good, sweet Zayn_.

They eventually make it up the stairs, and into their bedroom, and it's such a relief, falling into bed. Liam could just stay here forever, and he might mumble something to that degree, earning himself another laugh. “You're so drunk,” Zayn informs him.

Liam wants to protest that, but, yeah. He is.

“C'mon, Li, you should at least take your shoes and jeans off, babes, yeah?” comes Zayn's voice, close to his ear. Liam shivers. Grunts. “Need some help?” It's sweet, the way he says it, and Liam only reluctantly rolls over, tries to be conscious of how close Zayn is so he doesn't elbow him in the face.

“Please,” he murmurs, almost petulantly, and Zayn chuckles. The pressure on his feet eases, and he wiggles his toes, lets out a content little sound. He also manages to undo the buttons on his jeans, lifting his hips so Zayn can tug them off. That's about all he can do though, and he rolls onto his side, watches Zayn shuck his own clothes before he crawls back onto the bed.

He stays on his own side though, and Liam won't stand for that. For distance, when today's been so nice, when they've been so close. He pouts, as though that'll be enough of an explanation, of an incentive for Zayn. Conveniently forgetting that for all that Zayn claims to see, he's not a mind reader. Understandably, Zayn just frowns at him. “What's wrong, babes?”

Liam pouts more. “Cold,” he murmurs, well aware that he's on top of the blanket. But right now is no time for logic. And he's not cold as much as he just wants to be close to Zayn, with the added bonus of warmth. “Come cuddle me,” he says, just in case that's not clear. “Now.” He's not all that patient when he's drunk.

Zayn laughs softly, obediently scoots closer, so Liam can wrap his arms around him. “Bossy,” he murmurs, his own arm slipping around Liam's waist. “Better?”

Liam inhales his scent, nose buried in his hair. Smiles. “Mhm. Sleeping now.”

The last thing he hears is Zayn's laugh.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a bit, but I had a wonderful birthday and holiday, and I got myself an e-bike so I've been biking lots. I'm in a good place :)  
>   
> thank you all for still reading & commenting! I hope you're not getting tired of the way Liam seems to go a bit back and forth emotionally. I feel it wouldn't be realistic to make this a cutesy roadtrip story when he pretty much ran away from home and tried to run away from himself. But there will definitely still be cute stuff, and an ever increasing bond between him and Zayn.

He wakes up with his nose in Zayn's armpit.

As far as waking up goes, it's not his favorite. He comes to slowly, to something tickling his nostrils, and then - “Yeurgh,” he complains, pushing Zayn away from him, his arm only barely reaching out in time to keep him from falling off the bed. Wrapped around Zayn's waist, it's impossible not to notice just how warm his skin is underneath his fingertips. 

Zayn just lets out a soft sound, apparently unbothered by nearly being shoved off the bed. Instead of retaliating he tries to cuddle back into Liam. 

Which. Nope. “Zayn,” he whines softly, fingers prodding lightly at the other's stomach. “Zayn. You stink. You are rank. Go shower.” He doesn't think he should really be one to talk, because he's sure he smells equally delightful. A day of roaming through the vineyards and drinking will do that to you. But it doesn't mean it shouldn't be fixed. Right now. 

Sure, Liam could go shower first. But it's the principle of the thing. Sort of. He'll say that it is, anyway. 

Zayn, still unphased, doesn't even bother to open his eyes. “Sh,” he tells him, voice soft and sleepy sweet. 

“That better end in -ower,” Liam grumbles, and Zayn laughs. It's funny, how that rich laugh can dispel even the worst of morning moods. Liam's pretty sure that if it was bottled somehow, it'd sell worldwide as a hangover cure. 

(He might still be slightly drunk)

“Mm,” Zayn finally pulls away a little bit, and Liam determinedly doesn't acknowledge how that somehow feels like a loss. When he might go and shower and that means Liam will have won this argument. “Are you coming with then?”

Liam blames still being slightly drunk for the part of him that wants to say yes.

 

Once they're a little more awake, they venture out for breakfast. It's Zayn's treat this morning, and Liam is quietly relieved, because he looked at his bank account while Zayn was in the shower. He's rapidly running out of money. So rapidly that he isn't sure how much longer he can stay, if he factors in the cost for a ticket back home. 

(There's a part of him that wants to .. not care. Not book a ticket back. Make a new life for himself right here. But then there's that other part of him that tells him to not be an idiot. That even if he stays, Zayn will leave him eventually, and what will Liam do here all on his own? 

He hates how that voice sounds like Danielle)

Zayn is cradling a cup of coffee and looks like he's half asleep while Liam's frowning at his blueberry waffles. He wishes he could figure out what to do. He wishes he didn't want to ask Zayn for guidance. It makes him feel like a little boy. Which is partially the reason why he won't phone up his mum and dad and ask them for money. The other part is that he's pretty sure they'd tell him to come back home. It's not that they don't love him, it's that they don't understand why he left, or why he can't find himself right in Wolverhampton. 

And the thing is, he probably could. Find himself there. A version of himself, at least. It's not like he doesn't know that upon leaving there was a Liam-shaped hole left that he could probably fit himself back into. But he doesn't think he can do it seamlessly, like before. He thinks he might have to shave off some bits here and there, pretend that others are bigger than they are. And he's not sure he wants to. He's not sure he wants to be that version of himself that he was when he left. But he's also not sure if he's got a choice.

“You're gonna get wrinkles if you keep that up,” Zayn cuts through his thoughts, and Liam looks up, blushes when he catches his thoughtful gaze. “And your pancakes are getting cold, mate. I don't think your glare has enough heat to warm them up.” It's all said rather matter of factly, in a way that Liam would take offense to if this was that first day, back at Schiphol. Now, he just smiles.

“I don't know if I'm ready to go back home,” he says, and he carefully avoids Zayn's eyes when he says it. Picks up his fork and knife and cuts into his pancakes, just to give himself something to do. They seem delicious. Or, well, they seem like they would have been delicious fifteen minutes ago. Now they just seem rather sad. And Liam finds himself stabbing the pancakes like he could stab the sad part of himself that way. Because he's tired of always being down on himself, and not being able to enjoy the good without worrying about what's to come next. Zayn bought him breakfast and instead he's moping, and why? He's still in France. He doesn't have to worry about what's next. He doesn't have to do anything but be in this moment. 

Zayn hums. “Why are you thinking about it?” 

Liam's eyes flicker up, and he meets Zayn's eyes. They're soft and thoughtful. Not judging. God, he loves that about Zayn. How he never judges. Or, if he does, how he never finds him lacking. “I'm just-” he starts, puts his cutlery back down in favor of rubbing his face. “I'm kind of a mess.” He laughs, but Zayn doesn't laugh with him. “I'm scared,” he says, quieter. 

Zayn reaches out, squeezes his wrist. “Babe, I knew all that already. It's not hard to see that you're going through a tough time. You left home for a reason, yeah?” Liam nods, even if he can't help but wonder if finding himself isn't a stupid reason. “I can't guarantee you that you'll find what you're looking for. I don't think anyone can. But, just answer me this, ok? How you feel now, compared to when you left, is it better?”

“Sort of.” Liam isn't sure he can elaborate, but Zayn's smile makes him want to. “I'm still a mess. Just a happier mess?” He smiles a bit at that, because it might not be awfully flattering but it's the truth. “It's easier to breathe out here. And the thought of going back home, it's kind of like, like someone's squeezing my throat, or sitting on my chest, I don't know. It's just. I don't think I want to. Not just yet.”

“Then don't, babes.” And it's like Zayn knows how simple that sounds, because he sees the corner of his mouth lift up in a self deprecating smile. “Why would you?” He asks, because things are never that simple, and he knows Liam well enough to know that something has caused his anxiety.

Liam looks at Zayn's hand, that's still around his wrist. It's nice. “Money,” it's so wrong, he thinks idly, that something as common as money could be so important. Could trump what he wants, maybe even needs. “I'm running out. Like, really running out. Like, maybe I have another week before I need to book a ticket back home, or I won't be able to.”

Zayn nods, stays quiet for a moment. Liam knows him well enough by now to know that he's probably going through a hundred possibilities in his mind. Of things to do, ways to help. Pros and cons. He wants to put his life in Zayn's hands and tell him _fix it_. But it's not fair to ask. Especially when he knows Zayn would try, possibly at his own expense. 

“I'm not ready to lose you yet, Li,” he says quietly, and this time Zayn's the one not meeting his eyes. “I mean, I know, we could go back home and stay in touch, and everything, but it wouldn't be the same. Not really.” Liam swallows, ignores his heart hammering in his chest when Zayn touches upon the one thing he's been terrified to acknowledge. 

He just nods. Whispers a soft “yeah”, worried that anything louder will make his voice crack.

“Let's go to Italy,” it seems so random, but the way Zayn's eyes clear when they look at him, Liam senses a plan. The start of one, at least. They look at each other for a moment, and Zayn smiles then. “Let's go to Italy, and go to the coast, and get a job. You could like, I don't know. You look like you surf. Do you?” He doesn't let Liam respond. “It doesn't matter. You don't want to go home, and neither do I. So we won't. We'll go to Italy, and we'll get jobs. Any jobs. I don't care if I have to flip burgers or pick up trash. I'm not going back home before I'm ready, and I'm not letting you do that either.”

It's firm, and Liam couldn't be more fond of him. It's like Zayn's determination has the ability to reach into even the darkest corners of his mind and fill it with hope. He feels lighter. “Ok,” he says softly, for once not wincing at the way his voice trembles. “Yeah. Ok.”

Zayn, for all his bravado, only relaxes when Liam agrees, and he watches his mouth form the word _ok_ like he's going to ask Liam for his reassurance. Like he _needs_ his reassurance just as much as Liam needs his. It makes him nod again, reach out to squeeze Zayn's hand. “We'll do it together.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit later than I wanted, to be honest, but I've had a lot of physical issues lately, and just been generally really busy. I am also going away from the 14th of October until the 4th of November to see my bestie in America, so I won't be able to update until after that. I am sorry, and I hope this was worth the wait! xx

They pool all their resources, and Liam would feel a hell of a lot worse about emptying his bank account if he wasn't with Zayn, if it didn't just take a look from those warm eyes (framed by insanely long lashes that girls would be jealous of) to calm his nerves. Emptying their pockets and going through their bags, they dump all of it onto the bed, down to the very last penny Liam has to his name.

Well. There's the money for rent, and his health insurance, but Liam knows better than to touch that. Just because he ran away from home doesn't mean he's forgot about what he left behind. He doesn't want to come back to massive debt, or to find his stuff in the streets.

Zayn goes through the pile of coins and bills on the bed, sorting and counting, before writing down the full amount on a piece of paper he tore from one of his notebooks. He then grabs his phone and settles in, intent on researching the cheapest way to get to Italy, and where the hell they'll have the best chance of actually getting a job. Liam would help him, but he's kind of endeared by how serious Zayn looks, and he still doesn't like turning his phone on. He checks in with his parents occasionally, just so they know he's not dead, and he's talked to Louis once or twice, but otherwise he's content to ignore the entirety of his life back in England.

 

Finding a job isn't as easy as it looks, not online, and for Liam that would usually be reason enough to say no to even going. Going to Italy, running out of money, and not knowing where their next meal would come from, it's not ideal, even Zayn has to agree. Reluctantly, but he agrees, sighing as Liam points out that they really need more than optimism to go on by now.

“What do we do then?” he asks him, and Liam has to admit that he has no clue. Other than go home, and he knows neither of them want that. Not yet, is all his brain can provide. He'll go home someday, but not yet.

“We'd be able to stretch our budget a bit more if we try hitchhiking,” Zayn suggests softly, and Liam frowns. He's always learned that hitchhiking isn't safe, it's the stuff horror movies are made of. But that's generally when people are alone, and both him and Zayn are young, fast, and generally strong. Would it really be so risky, or is it just that his mum would have a heart attack if she knew?

“Ok,” he agrees, ignoring that niggling feeling in the back of his head that tells him he'd never agree to this if the consequence of saying no was anything other than losing Zayn.

Zayn perks up at that, immediately goes back into research mode, and Liam tells himself that it's time he's stopped being afraid. It's time he starts looking at this as an adventure.

 

Adventure is a lot less fun at arse o'clock in the morning, but Zayn's told him that the best way to get to Italy is to find a truck driver who will take them either to it or across, and to get to a toll station where it'll hopefully be reasonably easy to hitch a ride. When they relayed their plans to the owner of the bed and breakfast the night before, she surprised them both by calling one of her friends to pick them up from the b&b and drive them to the toll station, even when Zayn shyly told her that they were planning to leave around dawn.

It's not even dawn now, but she's made them coffee, and before they leave, she tucks a bit of money in their pockets, even when they try and protest. In a mix of French and broken English she tells them that she wouldn't want them going hungry, and she wraps up a couple of croissants for on the road. Both Zayn and Liam feel a bit guilty for making fun of the interior of her b&b, and in general, for being surprised by her kindness.

They end up being surprised a few times over, that day. Because the French are lovely, when it comes to hitchhiking. They don't ask for money, and when Zayn offers to buy one of them coffee at the next stop, there's a chuckle, and the truck driver buys them lunch instead. It's all very nice, and Liam almost regrets leaving.

But then they get to Italy, and Italy – Liam's always wanted to go. For no particular reason other than that it sounded cool, if he's honest. It's the country of beautiful coasts and great food and AS Roma and other fabulous footie teams. Of Rome and vineyards and the mafia, and sure, he could do without that last part, but there's still something intimidating and appealing about Italy in general. Even if, when he'd tell someone, he'd probably get scoffed at and might inadvertently have insulted them. He's felt like that a lot lately. That what he's learned in school about The Netherlands and France and Italy, it's all so very narrowminded. It doesn't do more than scratch the surface. These countries, its people, are so much more than what is common knowledge. He wishes he were a writer, or artist, like Zayn, so he could do justice to everyone he's met and everything he's learned.

They end up spending the night with a friendly truck driver who promises to get in touch with some of his colleagues, so they can find their way down to the coast, where it might be easiest to get a job. Liam's so tired when they make their way upstairs that he can barely put one foot in front of the other, and Zayn's steady hand on his back more than makes up for the way he laughs at him.

(It doesn't stop Liam from tickling him, once they're in bed, and he only stops when Zayn pins his hands to the mattress and wraps himself around him like a clingy octopus.)

 

Liam figured the most difficult part of their trip was over once they find their way down to the coast, to the tourist areas that will soon come alive, but he hadn't counted on the fact that most people barely speak English, and negotiating a job is a lot more difficult than it seems when neither of them speak a lick of Italian. Despite Zayn's charm and Liam's ready smiles, they spend two days going from hotel to restaurant to whatever-place-looks-like-they-might-possibly-be-hiring, only to be sent away.

If it weren't for Zayn, for his smiles and his eternal optimism that Liam's pretty sure is only half genuine (and he loves him for it, for how adamant Zayn is about making this a success, for how much he wants to be the person that Liam can rely on to fix everything, but he also wants to shake him and tell him _you can trust in me, you can fall apart, I want to be there for you_ ), Liam might have panicked.

Well. Might've panicked _more_.

They're sharing a slice of pizza from a restaurant, ignoring the way their stomachs growl because this isn't enough to satisfy the hunger they've been feeling since early this morning when Zayn dragged him out of bed and told him today would be the day they'd find something. Liam's feet are hurting, and he's tired, and part of him wants to just sit down and do nothing for a bit, but he knows that won't fix anything.

Zayn sighs, when he finishes his half of the slice and hears Liam's stomach growl. It's sad, and Liam doesn't need the softly whispered “sorry,” to know how utterly despondent he feels. “I shouldn't have-” he starts, but Liam doesn't let him finish.

“C'mon,” he tells him, getting up and pulling Zayn up with him. “We'll find something, yeah?” Zayn looks doubtful, but Liam nudges him, contemplates tickling him for a moment but wraps his arms around him instead, pulling him into a hug that Zayn gratefully melts into. “It'll be okay, Zee. We've got each other, yeah?”

Zayn huffs. “Can't exactly eat you, can I?” But he tucks himself under Liam's chin all the same.

Liam snorts, resists the urge to press a kiss to Zayn's hair. “Well...” he trails off after a moment, but it's enough, draws one of those beautiful laughs from Zayn. He squeezes him a bit tighter at that.

Zayn, Liam's pretty sure, will later argue that he just lets him, but Liam knows that's bullshit. Because he holds him back just as tightly. Mutters “thanks” against his jacket, and Liam hides a smile against his hair.

_No,_ he thinks, _thank you_.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From October 2016 to April 2017. Without the wonderful [Pamela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/narue) this fic might have remained a WIP forever. Once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
> 
> Also a massive thank you to the amazing [Chiara](http://clouish.tumblr.com/) who allowed me to pick her brain about Italy. Your offer to help was just what I needed, thank you!!

The next morning, tired and still hungry, they find it hard to keep their spirits up. That is, until Liam suggests a game. It’s a silly game, really. They turn a corner and he nudges Zayn, tells him “If the next car that passes is red, we’re going to get hired at the first place we walk into.” Zayn looks at him, warily or moody, Liam can’t really tell - it doesn’t help that he hasn’t had coffee this morning. He just gives him a hopeful smile, making Zayn sigh before he bumps his shoulder against Liam’s. 

“Ok,” his voice is gravel rough. Liam kind of wants to wrap him up in a hug. The next car they see is a silver coloured Fiat, but rather than let either of them think too hard on that, Liam just gently elbows his side.

“Your turn,” he says, laughing softly when Zayn frowns. “C’mon. We get hired at the first place we walk into if-”

Zayn, bless him, doesn’t tell Liam that this game is stupid. Or that he doesn’t want to play. He just takes a moment, takes in his surroundings. “Ok. We get hired at the next place we walk into if .. the next person we see is an old lady with a poodle.”

(It’s an old man carrying a loaf of bread)

Liam chews on his lip for a moment. “We get hired at the next place we walk into if a bird poops on your head within the next two minutes.”

Zayn actually looks torn at that, as though he’s not sure he’d want to make that sacrifice for a job, no matter how dire the situation. He keeps eyeing the sky mistrustfully, lets out a shriek when Liam playfully shoves him in the direction of a large tree, as though he wants to increase his odds. “Leeyum!” He scolds him, but he’s laughing, even when he lets out a sigh of relief at the passing of the two minute mark. “We’re gonna get hired at the first place we walk into if you hit on the next person that walks past us,” he retaliates, and when it’s a lady in her fifties with lipstick that makes it seem like she’s bleeding, they stay quiet for a moment, breaking out into peals of laughter once they’ve passed. “Not worth it, huh?” Zayn teases, “she not your type?”

Liam makes a face at him. “You weren’t willing to sacrifice your  _ hair _ for a job, why should I sacrifice my virtue?” When that makes Zayn laugh again, Liam’s heart feels like it’s threatening to burst with how incredibly fond he is of this boy next to him.

Although none of the things that they’re predicted to happen actually do happen, they’re in better spirits by the time they get to their destination. Zayn stops him from going inside, face solemn when he pulls his keychain from his pocket, offers it to Liam palm up. “Rub it for luck,” he says, sounding so serious that Liam doesn’t even bother to crack a joke about what he’d rather rub. Instead he dutifully rubs the little wizard’s keychain, offering Zayn a smile that is easily returned. 

“Maybe all we need is a little magic, huh?” He says softly. Zayn almost blushes, but nods.

Maybe all they really did need was a little magic, because although they don’t get hired at the hotel, the man actually proves to be incredibly helpful. He’s made a quick call to his brother, who owns a hotel just a half hour drive away, and as luck would have it, he could use a few extra hands for the summer. Liam almost doesn’t dare to believe it, doesn’t even have time to worry about how they’re going to get over there, because the man calls for someone to take over the front desk and offers to drive them. Liam swallows down an almost hysterical giggle at the sight of the man’s red car.

When they get to the hotel, a large but not too over the top place, in a beautiful town called Castiglione della Pescaia, Liam’s about ready to accept any job, any working conditions, knowing they really can’t afford to be picky right now. The owner’s brother, who’s driven them, has brought them up to speed as to what they can expect, telling them that his sibling is a reasonable man, who will make them work hard but treat them fairly. Zayn’s hand in his tells him he’s cautiously optimistic, just as he is. 

It doesn’t mean he’s exactly happy when the hotel owner tells him that they won’t be working together, that Zayn can work in the beach bar while he’d like Liam to be in the actual hotel, alternating between the front desk and waiting in the restaurant, but at least they have a job. At least they have a place to stay, a room in the hotel that they get to share as long as they’re employed. They’re informed about working hours (six hours a week, no more than eight hours a day), pay (around 600 a month, but with housing and food provided for them, that’s more than enough) and expectations (no bothering the guests, no loud music after ten, no drinking on work days), are told that if they work hard, they can stay on until the season ends in September. Liam, still kind of reeling at the complete turnaround today’s been, can’t honestly even wrap his head around the thought that he’ll still be here come September. He’s just kind of going through the motions, answering questions and hoping Zayn will remember more of what they’re being told than he does, because he needs a moment. Possibly several. The only question he really ends up answering is when they’re asked about their relationship - cautioned not to show too much affection or argue in front of the guests, Liam is happy to lay those worries to rest, telling the man that they’re just friends, that he’s straight. He doesn’t really understand the question, not until they’re shown to their room and he steps away from Zayn only to realize he’d still been holding his hand.

After a quick but satisfying lunch, they get the afternoon to explore the hotel and the area. Keys to their room safely pocketed, Liam is relieved to leave behind the bags they’ve been dragging along for days, and from the looks of it, Zayn is too. He only brings his sketchpad and a pair of sunnies, and although they quickly concede that they’ve done quite enough walking in the past few days, they wander around a bit, then finally settle onto the beach. Salt on his tongue, wind in his hair, Liam couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than right here.

When they get back in, much, much later, they’re giddy and affectionate, sun and sea and  _ hope _ making it easy to fall into each other, the way they have so often lately. Liam doesn’t think anything of it, when Zayn crawls into his bed after a quick shower. Just wraps an arm around him, body finding those familiar spots where he fits just right, his nose pressed against the nape of Zayn’s neck. It’s stopped making him squirmy, stopped being something Zayn complained about  _ ‘because that tickles Liam, stop it’ _ and instead just causes him to sigh contentedly, hand warm on Liam’s own as they fall asleep.

*

It’s weird, not seeing Zayn all day. Even when the job keeps Liam busy, when he’s learning so much from the other members of staff, who are all genuinely dead nice, have welcomed him like he’s a long lost friend returning home, he still misses having Zayn around. It’s weird, how in a few short weeks Zayn’s become such a big staple of his life. With every little thing that happens he finds himself automatically turning to where part of him still expects Zayn to be at his side. It’s terrifying, if he thinks too hard on it, and all the more so because it’s really  _ not _ . 

All the same, he’s glad when they finish their shifts, and although Zayn’s too tired to even really chew, they still decide to head towards the beach to finish their night like they’ve grown accustomed to doing. Sat close together, talking. At first it’s all about their day, about the staff and the work and the guests - Zayn tells him of this young girl, couldn’t have been more than fifteen, who tried hitting on him. He tells him he wasn’t sure if it was so he would give her an alcoholic drink or because she’d been genuinely trying to seduce him. Liam tells him of this couple that came in at around ten in the morning, exhausted off an overnight flight, but so nice and understanding when he’d had trouble finding their reservations. The woman had even given him a few coins in tips when he’d explained to her that this was his first day, had patted his hand and told him he’d do great.

Once they’ve shared their day, once Liam’s told Zayn all those things he’s saved up during the day, all those moments that he wanted to share with him and couldn’t, it isn’t much of a leap to more personal subjects. Though the way Liam just blurts out the words still manages to catch the both of them off guard.

“She cheated on me.”

He’s not sure why he says it. But Liam’s never felt closer to someone than he does with Zayn, and it’s not even because they’re sitting so close that he can feel his chest expanding as he breathes in. He’s still sort of scared though, almost wants to take it back. It’s not something he expected himself to talk about, as much as he’d missed Zayn and wanted to be close to him.

Zayn doesn’t ask who. He doesn’t ask anything, for a moment. Just takes a drag from his cigarette, holding in the air so long that Liam’s almost afraid he’ll choke. He hums then, exhales. “Is that why you left?”

He bites his lip. “Sort of.” Not really, actually. “I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to -- she’s the girl I envisioned myself spending the rest of my life with. We had it all planned out. I was gonna propose to her under the Eiffel tower.”

Zayn cocks his head, looks at him. Liam doesn’t meet his eyes. “Was that her idea or yours?” is all he says.

Liam laughs, even if he’s not sure why. Zayn smiles back at him though, eyes warm and no match for the way he feels when Zayn shifts, presses an absent kiss to his shoulder. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” He stares at the sea, sighs. “It’s like that with a lot of things. Dani wanted to be proposed to in Paris. Dani wanted me to work at her father’s office. She said I had to get my life together, before we could get  _ our _ life together.”

Zayn hums again. “So you did, and then she cheated on you?” 

“She had an affair,” it might be the first time he’s actually said that out loud. The first time he doesn’t immediately make excuses. “With some guy she met when she was performing in London for a few weeks.”

Zayn doesn’t answer. Just takes a drag of his cigarette, silently signalling for him to continue. Liam loves how Zayn does that. How he’s always a safe space. How he doesn’t need to weigh his words with him, worry about what Zayn will think. He doesn’t always manage not to, but it’s easier with Zayn, at least.

“I caught them in bed together. I took the day off from work, figured I’d surprise her by driving up to London to spend the day together. Watch her dance at night. I figured it’d be romantic, she always said I should be more romantic.” He bites back a giggle. “So I brought her flowers, had the doorman sneak me into the apartment she was staying at. Come up to the bedroom and-”

Zayn’s arm snakes around his middle, fingertips stroking the little bit of exposed skin at his waist. It’s comforting. “You said you tried to forgive her?”

Liam nods. “I wanted to. She was - we’ve been together for years. I thought - something must be wrong, if she’s looking for something in some other bloke’s arms. She was crying so badly. Begged me to forgive her. Begged me to please not leave her, that I was the love of her life and she needed me.” It had been the first time he’d heard that from her. He’d always known she loved him, but he’d always thought he needed her more than she needed him. It had been so nice, to be proven wrong. 

“She - we talked. About why it had happened. Not a lot, though. She just wanted to move on. Wanted me to forget it had ever happened. I told her I wanted to understand, that if it was something I’d done-”

“And then what?” Zayn prompts softly. “I mean - you’re here now. You didn’t get to fix things, like you both wanted to?”

Liam exhales shakily. Takes another deep breath for courage. “She told me it was my fault.” He whispers. “Like, about a month after I caught her. Things were ok, we were trying, but then I found out she was still texting him. I just - I wasn’t even angry. I just wanted to know  _ why _ .”

Zayn’s not indignant, the way part of him expected. He just asks “Did she say?” in a soft voice. The other part of him, the part that was afraid to admit it even now, wonders if when he explains Zayn will somehow sympathise with her. 

“Because I expected too much from her,” it’s automatic. He’s heard this so many times that it’s not hard to make excuses on her behalf. “Because she felt like I was holding her to impossible standards. I was too needy and selfish and she had just needed to be with someone who was less --” less him, is what it comes down to. He swallows. “Someone who didn’t hurt her as much as I did. Who loved her just as she was.”

He’s afraid to look at Zayn. Waits for him to answer, hears from the way he inhales that there’s a lot on his mind, that he’s weighing his words. He’s pretty sure Zayn’s frowning. When he speaks up though, there’s no judgment in his tone. “Do you feel like what she said was fair?”

“I don’t know.” Liam admits. “Maybe. I was, when we met, I felt so lucky to just be with her. She was so beautiful, completely out of my league. She helped me so much. Gave me a sense of direction, a sense of purpose. I suppose, in a way, I could’ve pressured her to be that person I saw in her at the start. I had her up on a pedestal, I know that. But I  _ loved _ her. Isn’t that what love is? To think wonderful things of someone?”

“I guess,” Zayn frowns, Liam can see it when he chances a look at him. “I mean. Not to the point of forgetting that they’re human, I suppose. We all make mistakes, Li.”

“I know that. I’m not stupid.” Before he can get agitated, Zayn squeezes his waist. It’s a silent  _ I didn’t say you were _ . “She said that too,” he admits. “That she should be allowed to make mistakes, that it wasn’t fair of me to put that kind of pressure on her. That she’d felt so trapped that this - it was her escape. He liked her for who she was. He didn’t ask more than she was willing to give, he didn’t need her to be perfect. It wasn’t toxic, with him.”

“Why didn’t she leave then?” Zayn voices, the question one Liam had asked himself too. “If all that was how she was really feeling, why did she say she wanted to be with you?” He had asked her just that, that afternoon.

“Because she loved me. She’d thought that I could change. That, in the long run, this could be good for us. That’s what she said at first. That it was all a matter of learning to communicate better, of being more sensitive to each other’s needs and all that.” He brushes his sleeve past his eyes, doesn’t want Zayn to see him cry. Doesn’t want him to pity him. “But then she said, I hadn’t learned anything from it. I was still expecting her to be someone she wasn’t. She said I should’ve been more of a man, that I was a coward.” He snorts. “She was right. Ran away from home, didn’t I? Couldn’t even face up to what I’d done. Just took the first available flight.”

They stay quiet for a long time. It’s a nice silence though. Liam isn’t thinking too hard on what Zayn might think of him, which probably has a lot to do with the shoulder resting against his. They just sit, for what feels like hours, hearing the waves lap gently at the shore, occasionally passing a cigarette back and forth. Yet when the conversation starts back up, it’s like no time has passed at all.

“I’m not the best person to judge,” Zayn starts, “but she, um, sounds kind of controlling?” Liam glances at him, sees the frown on his face. His words come slow, like he’s not sure he’s not one wrong word from being in a fight. It makes him want to reach out and squeeze his hand. 

He doesn’t. Doesn’t even speak up, really. Another quick glance and Zayn’s got that one corner of his mouth quirked up. Grateful, Liam realizes, that he’s not cutting him off. That he doesn’t accuse him of seeing too much, like he’s probably heard so often.

“Like,” he shrugs, a small movement, small enough that their shoulders still stay connected. “She expected all these things from you, yeah? And then she goes and turns it around and tells you you’re the one that’s been pressuring her to be perfect.” 

It’s Liam’s turn to frown. “I, yeah, but like, she only did that because she loved me, right? Because she wanted what was best for our future.”

“Shouldn’t she have trusted you though?” He voices softly. “To know what was best, to work to be the man you thought she deserved? You’re not a child, Li. You’re not stupid either.”

“I don’t always make the best decisions,” Liam interrupts. He’s not sure when he’s stopped hearing that in other people’s voices and started hearing it in his own.

Zayn scoffs. “Who does? No one’s perfect. No one should have to be. We all mess up and we forgive each other and we trust that people do their best. We don’t go and tell them  _ this is the way to do things _ . At some point you gotta have faith that people can do it on their own. If you’re with someone and you’re constantly telling them that who they are and what they want is wrong then --” he takes a deep breath, voice a little calmer when he continues. “then you’re not in a relationship. ‘s not her job to teach you that. ‘s not anyone’s job but your own to find out what you want and who you want to be.”

The words are pointed, so much so that Liam can’t help but wonder if Zayn is speaking from personal experience. He almost wants to ask, but before he can, Zayn almost explodes on him, words pouring out much faster than usual, like he’s been bottling it up for so long and now he simply can’t anymore. “And you’re  _ not _ a coward. Christ. That makes me so fucking angry that you think that. Do you know how many people would have the guts to just .. board a plane? Find themselves? People talk shit about finding themselves all the time, but no one just goes and  _ does  _ it. They all just keep -- they’re all just sleepwalking through their lives. You had the guts to come here and actually do something about it. You deserve to be proud of yourself for that, Li. You deserve to--” he runs out of steam, shakes his head. “You deserve the world.” It’s soft, mumbled. All Liam can think to do in response is wrap an arm around his waist and hold him. 

*

It’s late, too late really, considering they have to be up at the crack of dawn to get ready for their shift. They’re curled up on one of the beds, the other still perfectly pristine and unused, abandoned in favor of hushed words and the occasional brushing of their skin. Liam’s got his head propped up on the pillow, his fingers itching to reach out and brush over the delicate slope of Zayn’s forehead, to trace the shadow of his eyelashes on his face. He wants to ask Zayn if he’s staying, for the night. Somehow, after only days of sharing a bed, first in France and then here, it’s become habit for them to sleep together. Liam’s not sure he’ll even be able to sleep, with Zayn so far away. Even when he’s still so close he’d only have to reach out to touch him. It’s not the same as wrapping an arm around his waist and letting the warmth of his body lull him to sleep. “What did you mean, earlier,” he whispers, “when you said you’re not the best person to judge?” He watches Zayn, the room dimly lit and everything feels muted. Safe. Like he could admit his deepest, darkest secrets, and all Zayn would do was smile and tell him it’s ok. 

Zayn fidgets, glances up at him through those ridiculously long lashes. Liam wants to press his finger to his cheek, into the dimple he’s delighted to coax out on occasion. He doesn’t like it when Zayn frowns. Prefers to see him smile, with his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. 

“You’re so smart,” he whispers. “You’re so-”

Zayn cuts him off before he can say the word that’s on the tip of his tongue (Liam thinks it might have been  _ lovely _ ). “I’ve never been in a relationship.” He’s not sure if Zayn’s blushing, not sure if, if he were, it’d be because of Liam’s praise or because of what he’s just confessed. “I’ve never slept with anyone either.” 

“But you’re-” Liam starts, cuts himself off when he realizes he’s not even sure what he’d say. 

“I flirt a lot, sure. But when it comes down to it. I want it to mean something. I mean, I’ve kissed guys, I’m not a complete novice when it comes to sex, but. I want to be in love. I want to be with someone who - it doesn’t have to be perfect. I know that’d be too much to ask for. Just. I want something-”

“Real.” Liam says softly. Zayn nods, looks up at him.

“Real,” he echoes. “And safe. Someone who accepts me for who I am, who loves me, even on my bad days. It doesn’t, I’m not expecting a fairytale romance. But I want someone who will be with me, not in spite of my bad habits, I don’t want -- I don’t want to be settled for.”

Liam looks at him, wonders how on earth Zayn could think anyone would ever  _ settle _ for him. But he nods instead. “You deserve that.”

Zayn smiles softly. “So do you.”


	19. Chapter 19

Things settle into an easy rhythm. They get up early in the morning, Liam a little earlier than Zayn because even when it means Zayn has to rush through his routine, he’d prefer to stay in bed for the few extra minutes it gives him when Liam showers first. Once they’re both dressed, Liam in the nice button up and slacks the hotel provided, while Zayn can wear the more casual hotel tee, they head down for breakfast with the rest of the staff. Sat in the kitchen, they chat over bread rolls and coffee, learn a bit of Italian and teach a bit of English, having the kind of conversations with the others that never go too deep but nonetheless leave the basis for something more closely resembling friendship.

When they’ve finished their food, Zayn joins the others who head out to the beach, while Liam clocks in for his shifts at the hotel, alternating between manning the front desk (together with a lovely girl named Clara, who keeps insisting Liam teaches her English sentences whenever they’re not attending to guests) and jumping in to help the waiters during busy times. He’s on his feet all day, except for the brief respite he gets when he can get something to eat, but it’s a job he finds he likes. He likes being around people, seeing them so happy to be on holiday. Slowly, he starts learning about the area, can offer tourists directions and suggestions on where to go. 

After they’ve finished their shift, more often than not, Liam and Zayn head to the beach. They always head a bit away from the hotel, to somewhere more secluded, sitting there and chatting for hours, or just watching the waves. Zayn draws a lot, writes a lot, when the weather’s still nice enough at night they sometimes go for a swim - or Liam does, because Zayn doesn’t like swimming, or so he always insists. Liam doesn’t question it, doesn’t do something as dickish as unexpectedly tug him into the water, just sits near the waterfront and lets the water lap at his ankles when Zayn gets too antsy about him being too far from the shore. 

Still though. Sometimes Liam can’t help but feel .. unsettled. He came here, ran away, to find himself, to escape a situation that he’d felt trapped in. But the longer he stays away, the more he starts to realize that he’s never going to be able to outrun his past. He’s never going to be able to move on until he goes back home. Confronts the things that made him leave. Zayn told him he wasn’t a coward, but the longer they’re here, he more he starts thinking that even if that’s true and leaving didn’t make him a coward, staying away kind of does. He doesn’t bring it up though. Zayn seems so happy here, doesn’t seem to think that staying until the season ends is a bad idea at all, and Liam can’t bring himself to tell him that he can’t envision himself still here in September. 

Their first day off, they don’t do much. They’re both too tired to really make the most of their time off, but Zayn makes him promise that the next time, they’ll actually do something fun.  _ Even if it’s just having a few drinks the night before _ , he’s all but begged him, and Liam, he’s still so easy for him. Still lives for that smile on his face, so he agrees. Just a few drinks doesn’t sound so bad, after all. They’ve worked hard, they’ve earned the chance to relax, unwind. And, Liam thinks, it might not be so bad, having a drink or two in his system. It tends to keep his mind from wandering, when it finally has the time to do so. 

Only when their free night comes around a few drinks turn into a lot more than that, turn into bringing a few bottles of wine up to their room. Into conversations that they maybe should’ve had sober. Because as much as Liam likes to pretend otherwise, he can’t fully ignore the sinking feeling that time is running out. That he’s gone from dreading going home to actually feeling stuck here. It’s not that he doesn’t care about Zayn. It’s not that he’s not grateful. The thought of leaving him actually hurts so much he can barely breathe, but sometimes he can’t help but wonder what they think they’re doing. Are they going to make a life here? Is that what Zayn wants? To forget all about his past and stay here? Is he going to expect Liam to stay? Is he going to  _ want _ him to?

It all culminates in one question, that almost trips off his tongue because it might not be what he really wants to ask but it’s a gateway. It’s a start. What Zayn wants, needs, from him, all depends on what he came here for. On what he left behind. “Why’d you come here?” 

Zayn looks up at him. “I don’t want to talk about that.” It’s not even apologetic, and Liam finds himself a bit annoyed at that. He’s not sure why he’s so annoyed, except that maybe his head is a mess and he somehow expected Zayn to know that. To make it better, the way he always has. His head is a mess and he’s afraid of speaking up and making this situation a mess too, but he doesn’t quite know how to stop himself.

“Don’t you trust me?” he points at him, bottle of wine in hand. “I’ve told you so much. Opened up to you. You can’t even tell me why you’re here? It’s been weeks, Zee, and all you’ve said is that you’re running away. You trust your bloody notebooks more than you trust me.”

It’s not that he begrudges Zayn his privacy. It’s just. He thought they were mates. He thought that Zayn had come to depend on him. Might even need him, in a way. He’s riling himself up, he knows, but he’s not sure he can find the off switch. Isn’t sure this isn’t headed for disaster regardless of how he pulls on the emergency brake. One look at Zayn though, and he deflates. He looks small. Unsure. Liam hates that. Hates how Zayn looks the way he feels. He wants to wrap him up in a hug and apologize. Instead, he does all he can do. Sigh, swallow another mouthful of wine. “Sorry. Forget it. I’m-” he offers Zayn the bottle, lets their fingers brush together and smiles at him, a peace offering. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Zayn tells him softly, shifting a bit closer, though it’s timid, as though he’s not too sure of his welcome. Liam tamps down on the brief irrational surge of anger he feels, that he’s pretty sure isn’t even directed towards Zayn. “I do. You know that, right?”

Liam nods automatically. He’s not sure he does, but he knows Zayn isn’t lying. He’s not sure how that makes sense, but it does. “Forget it,” he repeats, softer. “It’s not important.”

It is, he thinks Zayn knows that too, but he seems grateful for the out.

...

It’s later. Liam isn’t sure how much later, but he’s sure not enough time has passed for the amount he’s been drinking. He’s drunk. He’s so incredibly drunk. He knows he should probably not keep drinking but he wants to. He wants to so he can forget. So it’s easier to ignore the part of him that is telling him it’s time to go home. That he’s maybe not found what he’s looking for but he won’t find it here either. He wants to drink himself into oblivion so he doesn’t have to deal with the fact that this means everything will change. 

Because Zayn isn’t going to come with him.

…

Zayn crawls onto the bed, presses himself close. It’s almost an apology, Liam’s drunk brain tells him. He’s not sure why he feels like Zayn ought to apologize. If anything, he’s the one that should. He’s the one that yelled at him. Or maybe Zayn does need to apologize. He’s hurt his feelings, he’s pretty sure Zayn knows that. He wishes Zayn wouldn’t, though. Because if he apologizes that means he knows something’s wrong. Liam doesn’t want there to be anything wrong. If there’s something wrong then that means that the spell is broken. He doesn’t want it to be. He wants time to stop and for him to be able to stay here and for nothing to matter except for him and Zayn. He wants to have this. Just this. But the harder he holds onto it, the faster it slips through his fingers.

“Leeyum.” It’s soft, he can feel Zayn’s mouth form the words more than he can even hear them, he thinks. He thinks he should want to move away. He doesn’t. “Leeyum.” It sounds small. Shaky. 

He doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Has another mouthful of wine instead, hears a steady beat but he’s not sure if it’s a clock or his heartbeat. He’s thinking  _ this moment, this moment with you _ ,  _ I want it to last _ but it’s gone already.

…

He comes to, not sure if he blacked out or fell asleep. Glances around, only to see Zayn curled up on the other bed, arms brought up to his knees. He might make a noise, might reach for him. Doesn’t manage to stay awake long enough to see if Zayn notices.

…

He’s caught somewhere between being drunk and hungover. His eyelids feeling heavy, mouth stuffed with cotton. Unsure of what woke him, desperate for more sleep, he registers the sound of soft sobs. Of a whispered confession.  _ Leeyum I’m scared.  _ He thinks he’s not meant to hear it, because the moment he makes a soft sound, Zayn’s breath hitches and he makes an effort to stay quiet. Liam wants to reach for him, but he can’t make his limbs move. 

…

In the morning, neither of them say much, and nothing at all about the previous night. They’re careful around each other in a way they haven’t been before, and Liam almost feels like his hangover is an expression of just how much everything hurts.

*

It’s another two days before it all comes to a head. 

“You’re going home?” Zayn sounds shocked, maybe even angry. Liam almost feels bad about it, about talking to his parents and booking the ticket, all without consulting Zayn. But he was on the phone to them earlier, when Zayn was in the shower, and he suddenly knew that this was it. That as much as part of him wants to stay here, with Zayn, he can’t. It really just sort of happened. Before he knew what was going on, his dad had already forwarded him the flight information.

“You and I both know we can’t stay here forever, Zayn,” he says softly. Patiently, he thinks, though from the way Zayn bristles he thinks it comes across more as patronizing instead. 

“Says who?” It’s just to be stubborn, he knows, but he still snorts.

“Says me.”

Zayn huffs. “Says your mum, more like. Your dad.” He doesn’t even look at him. “Says your precious Danielle.” It’s bitter. And unfair. So unfair that Liam can’t help but take the bait.

“Just because  _ you _ haven’t got the balls to figure out what you want to do with your life--” he can see the moment his words impact Zayn. Really  _ hit  _ him, like he’s just fired a round of bullets at him. He regrets it straightaway. But he also doesn’t. He’s gotten enough shit from Danielle in the past, had dealt with her telling him what he needed to do and who he needed to be. Zayn’s been so vocal about all of that, telling him he deserves to make his own decisions, his own  _ mistakes _ . So where the hell does he think he’s coming from, thinking he has the right to do the exact same thing? Just because they’re friends -- Liam has had plenty of friends like that. He doesn’t need more people telling him that what he wants is wrong. 

“Leeyum.” It’s soft, despite the obvious hurt on Zayn’s face. Liam wishes he’d yell at him instead. It’d be easier. He wouldn’t have to feel guilty if Zayn hurt him back. He doesn’t want to be rational, right now. He wants to scream at him and forget what this is really about.

“No,” he shakes his head, forces himself to take deep breaths, unclench his fists. Zayn only seems to get tenser. “No. Whatever, Zayn. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not  _ you _ . Not after all this.” After Amsterdam and  _ live a little _ and sleepy mornings in a bed that, judged by the way they migrated towards one another, was a little smaller every morning. After vineyards and sharing pizza slices on a beach in Italy, counting out every dime to try and figure out how long they could make this last.

He always knew it had to end. He just didn’t know it would be like this. But if he’s honest with himself, Liam never expected to return to the UK with Zayn. He never expected this bond they have, this closeness, to survive going back to their normal lives. It’s no excuse to stay here, however. And maybe if Liam thought that Zayn wanted to stay because he’s afraid to lose him, because he needs Liam and doesn’t want to say goodbye to all they’ve gone through, then he’d be kinder about this. But it has nothing to do with him. Zayn’s just a coward. 

He swallows, can’t look at him even when he doesn’t want to stop. “I can’t do what other people want all the time. Not anymore. I can’t stay here just because you’re-”

Zayn’s head snaps up, his eyes briefly burning with something Liam is almost afraid to pinpoint. “Just because I’m what?”

There’s a million of ways Liam could end this sentence that won’t hurt, that won’t be cruel or make Zayn hate him, regret ever getting to know him. He just shakes his head instead. “Whatever. Tomorrow, I’m going home.”

With or without you. He doesn’t say that. He already knows the answer. Knows that this time he’ll board a plane alone.


	20. Chapter 20

In the morning, he’s not surprised to find that Zayn’s not in the room. He  _ is  _ a little surprised that Zayn’s woken up before him, not to mention the fact that he’s packed up most of Liam’s belongings. He’s not sure if it’s meant as a peace offering or if it’s a silent  _ good riddance _ . Remembering how much Zayn hated goodbyes, it might just be his way of avoiding that. 

He lingers a bit, unsure of what to do, if he should go out and look for Zayn, maybe make amends for the way they left things last night. He wants to wrap his arms around him one last time, wants to thank him, maybe apologize for the way he’s acted. But the thought of Zayn being angry with him, of tainting something that has meant so much to him - he doesn’t think he can stomach the thought of Zayn refusing to talk to him, let alone go out and actually face it. Instead he tidies up the room they’ve been staying in, tries hard not to cry when he finds one of his sweaters underneath a pile of Zayn’s clothes.

He remembers giving it to him, one night, while they were out for a walk. Remembers how Zayn had shivered but refused to admit that he was cold, how adorable he’d looked, drowning in his clothes, when Liam had pulled off his sweater and all but forced Zayn into wearing it. He remembers messy hair and sweet smiles, sweaterpaws and delicate inked wrists and he only realizes he’s pressed the material to his face when he inhales the spicy scent of smoke and Zayn’s cologne. He carefully folds it up, before changing his mind and shoving it back under the pile.

Liam’s not good with words, even if there’s so much he wants to say. In the end, all he does is leave a torn out piece of paper (from the notebook that Zayn had gotten him) on Zayn’s bed.

_ Thanks for everything.  _

_ I hope you find what you’re looking for. _

_ Take care. _

_ -Liam _

He doesn’t leave his number, or any other form of contact information. Zayn hasn’t offered his own, and Liam isn’t sure he could cope with knowing he’d left Zayn his number only for it to go unused. 

His boss isn’t pleased when he tells him he quits, but while Liam was a bit afraid to face him - and, honestly, a little afraid of the possible repercussions for Zayn - it’s not nearly as bad as he feared it would be. Liam manages to tell him a bit about why he’d come, and why he needs to go, and it’s choppy and jumbled up but it ends with the man squeezing his shoulder and telling him it’s all going to be alright. Liam’s not sure how true that is, but he appreciates it all the same.

His heart aches when he closes the door behind him, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he stubbornly refuses to cry until he’s at least halfway towards the airport.

*

Coming home that day is nothing like he expected. For one, no one is angry. Well. Louis punched him in the shoulder before he even said hello at the airport, but, considering he’d threatened to punch him in the dick, Liam’s still counting it as a success. Even his parents, his sisters, have welcomed him like he’s just gone on a vacation, rather than a somewhat desperate attempt at running away. They’re careful though. Chat about where he’s been and what he’s seen, about Nicola’s job and Ruth’s new puppy, but it’s all very superficial. Like they’re afraid to ask him what happened, if he’s ok. Like they’re afraid he’ll break.

He thinks of Zayn and tells himself  _ no, I won’t _ . 

His mum is the first to broach the subject. It’s night and he’s in his old bedroom at his parents’ house. He’d briefly considered going to his own place, but one look at his mum’s face and he’d changed his mind, took her offer of staying over. She’s just brought a cup of tea up to him, and as she lingers in the doorway after his soft  _ thanks _ , he thinks he knows what’s coming. She opens her mouth, closes it, presses a hand to her lips like she can hold back the words. He’s realizing, for the first time, how much he must’ve hurt her. “Mum,” it’s quiet, shouldn’t be able to make her shake the way it does. 

“Liam-” she starts, but she gives up again, shaking her head, and Liam puts down his tea and climbs out of bed, going over to her to wrap his arms around her. She folds into him like she’s only barely holding it together. It reminds him of how strong he used to think she was. How much he’d think of her as a superhero. She always had the right things to say, always cheered him up and her hugs, he swore as a kid, had magic power. Now, as an adult, he no longer thinks she’s strong. He  _ knows _ exactly how strong she is. In everything she does. In taking care of her children, trying to let them go when everything in her screams to keep them safe in her arms. He knows part of his mum blames herself for every bruise and bump and heartache, knows because it’s the same thing he used to do.

“Mum,” he says again, his arms tight around her. “I’m ok.” 

She lets out a sob of relief, only now hugging him back, the trembling getting worse before she finally seems to grasp that her little boy is home again. That she can, once again, protect him from the dangers in the world that might or might not only exist in her head. Liam swallows away a lump in his throat, presses a kiss to the top of her hair at her whispered “Are you sure?”

Yes, he thinks. All things considered. He didn’t fix things by running away, he has to confront both what he left behind and what he caused by leaving, but he thinks he might have some new strength. Might not be the Liam Payne everyone was used to, but a Liam he’s ok seeing in the mirror every morning. “Yeah,” he whispers back. His mum just nods, refuses to let go for another ten minutes. Liam doesn’t complain.

  
He spends a few days in Wolverhampton with his parents, before going back to the apartment he shares with Louis. Rather than throwing him a big welcome home party, Louis just offers him the controller and they spend the afternoon playing Fifa. It’s nice, even if Liam’s kind of antsy, waiting for Louis to grill him like he knows he wants. 

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know,” he mentions over a dinner of greasy pizza. Louis wrinkles his nose, picks up an olive slice and tosses it at Liam’s face. 

“‘m not.” He says. Liam scoffs. 

“Everyone treats me like I’m delicate. Like it’s gonna take one wrong comment and I’ll be running away again.”

Louis nods at that. “Fair,” he agrees. “Doesn’t mean they think you’re fragile though. Maybe ‘s just that they’re afraid to lose you again.”

Liam chews on a bite of pizza, not sure if he’s ever been so thoroughly scolded in such a nice way. Louis looks at him, clever blue eyes, and smiles.

“You’ve really hurt people, Li.”

“I know.” He starts, but Louis shakes his head.

“You don’t, though. Because you weren’t here. You were dealing with your own shit and I’m not gonna pretend that I know what you were going through - even if that’s on you, mate, because you didn’t tell me - but you forgot about everyone here. You left, and I’m glad that you got all your shit sorted, that it’s out of your system, but you’re gonna have to accept that you’ve hurt people. That they might’ve needed you to be here.” He puts down his slice, smile fading into a frown. “I needed you here.”

Liam swallows. “I’m sor-”

Louis cuts him off. “I know. It’s ok. I know that you needed this. I’m glad you went. I’m just saying. Maybe people are treating you like you’re delicate because they’re the ones that came close to falling apart.”

Liam parts his lips, not sure what he’s going to say, but he finds it doesn’t matter anyway, because Louis reaches over the table, squeezes his hand. “We don’t have to talk about it now,” he offers, returning Liam’s hesitant smile with one of his own. “But we  _ will _ talk about it. Because I don’t want us to get back to that place that caused you to run away in the first place. We’re supposed to be better mates than that.”

“That was never your fault,” Liam says quietly. “You know that, right?”

Louis shrugs. “Doesn’t much matter whose fault it was. Just matters that it doesn’t happen again.”  _ God _ , Liam thinks,  _ I love you. _ He can see by the grin on Louis’ face that he knows, loves him too. Louis - he reminds him of Zayn. In the way he sees so much, the way he can be oddly sweet even when he’s calling him out on his shit. 

He thinks Louis would like Zayn. Finds his heart aching at the thought that they might never meet. Louis squeezes his hand again. “We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.” It’s gentle, and Liam’s not sure why he’s suddenly so close to tears.

  
*****

Liam’s honestly not sure he’ll ever be really ready to put into words what has happened, what he’s learned and what he’s figured out in the past month and a half that he’s been away. He left at the end of March, when it was cold and his hair was all but buzzed off. Now it’s mid May, the temperature’s gone up a bit and his hair has grown back, but none of that accurately reflects how much time he feels has passed. It might as well be years. Lifetimes. It’s hard to believe that six weeks ago he felt so desperate to escape that he hopped on the first flight out of here. 

Not that everything’s fixed now. He’s still hurting, still messing up. But he’s trying to accept that that’s part of life. That the people close to him will forgive him for not being perfect, will love him despite his mistakes. He’s trying to learn that it’s ok if it takes time, that being angry doesn’t mean they don’t accept him anymore.

Louis’ been real good in that regard. He’s given Liam exactly two days respite, before barging into his room first thing in the morning, a cup of tea in his hand. For himself, obviously, because he sits down on Liam’s bed, stares at him until Liam begrudgingly sits up, fingers wrapped around the mug in his hands. “We’re talking now,” he declares, eyes flashing a bit when Liam grumbles something that might possibly be viewed as a protest. “I’m mad at you.”

Liam winces, runs a hand through his hair. “I-”

“You’re sorry. I know.” Louis cuts him off. “And that’s great, Li, that’s good. You  _ should _ be sorry. Because you fucking ran away. I’m your best friend and you didn’t talk to me. You just sent me a text saying don’t make a mess of the apartment, I left my key under the mat, dunno when I’ll be back.” The fact that Louis can recite the text without pausing for breath makes Liam think he must have reread it so many times. It makes him fidget with his blanket, bite down on his lip. “You should’ve trusted me.”

He’s reminded of saying something similar to Zayn, just a few days ago. “I know.”

“Shut up and let me talk,” Louis huffs, takes a sip of his tea, scalding hot judged by the face he makes afterwards. “I want to be mad at you. I have every right to be mad at you. But you make it so fucking hard, because you’re so damn understanding. You agree with everything I say, you take all the blame -- I can’t fight with you. I want to punch your stupid face in but then you give me that puppy look and all I want to do is hug you. It’s infuriating. It’s unfair.” He runs out of steam, sighs. “I just. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Liam nods, shifts a bit. Louis looks at him, a bit wary, but Liam ignores that, ignores the protest when he takes away his tea. Louis is only appeased when he wraps his arms around him. “You’re mad at me,” he says softly, “and you have every right to be mad at me. And you’re right. I’m shit at confrontations. I’m shit at believing in myself and believing that others genuinely care about me. I’m, all I can say is that I’m trying, Lou. I made a stupid decision, running away, but at the time it felt like it was the only thing I could do. I felt like - I just didn’t want to bother anyone. Dani got in my head, she, she cheated on me and she made it sound like I was the one at fault. And I believed her, Lou. I believed her because I didn’t think I deserved her in the first place, so to hear her tell me that, well. It made sense.”

Louis lets out a soft sound, fingers burying themselves in Liam’s hair. Liam presses closer. “I loved her, and for a long time that allowed me to forget that I didn’t love myself. I wondered, every day, what she was doing with me. I tried  _ so _ hard to be the person I thought she deserved, the person she told me I should be. And it’s not just her. You remember when we talked on the phone, when I told you how scared I was that I wasn’t a good enough friend? I can’t remember ever not feeling like that. I’ve always just felt so lucky to have you. To have friends, a girlfriend, a job. I never felt like I deserved any of that.”

He swallows. “It’s not, I’m still working on that. I came back because it felt like, the longer I stayed there, it wasn’t about finding myself anymore. It was just avoiding my problems back home. I don’t want to, not anymore. I want to be the kind of person that people look up to. Not feel sorry for.”

Louis’ response is a quick, painful yank at his hair, which is offset by the way he presses closer. “I’ve never felt sorry for you.” He mutters, almost angrily. “Look, I’m not, I know I joke around a lot. But you’re like a brother to me, yeah? I was miserable, when you were away. And not just because I worried. Not just because I wanted someone to tidy up after me, or someone whose ass I could kick in FIFA. D’you think if I just tolerated you, I would’ve felt so shitty? D’you think anyone would’ve? I’ve seen your mum more than my own because she barely stopped crying the whole time you were gone. Niall spent four straight days on my couch talking about how shit work was since you left.” He sighs, cards his fingers through Liam’s hair. “We all love you, you wanker.”

Liam sniffs, hugs him tighter, only to feel Louis’ fingers prodding his ribs. “Don’t slobber all over me, asshat.” Somehow it sounds like an endearment.

He feels a bit lighter when they pull away, when Louis goes back to nursing his tea, giving them both a moment to compose themselves. There’s an amiable silence for a few minutes, only broken by the sounds of Louis sipping his drink. Liam’s thoughts wander to Zayn, the way his heart aches almost taking him by surprise. “I met someone,” he says softly, staring at the knitted comforter his mum gave him last year for Christmas. 

Louis quirks an eyebrow, Liam’s breath rushing out as he’s trying to figure out where to even start explaining. It hurts to remember everything, but he doesn’t want to forget a single second of the time he’s spent with Zayn. “Did you?” Louis prompts softly, when Liam doesn’t elaborate. 

He fidgets with the comforter, finds a hole that just barely fits his pinkie, starts stretching it so he has something to focus on. “Not like. I just met him.” He doesn’t know why it sounds so defensive. Why he wants to stress to Louis that it wasn’t like that. He didn’t lose his head. Zayn’s important, yeah, but not because - not the way Louis thinks. 

“Ok?” Looking up at him, Liam can see the confusion in Louis’ eyes, but at the same time, the acceptance. Liam’s not sure he’s ready, or able, to explain it, but he knows Louis would listen. Wouldn’t judge. He swallows.

“I was lost and - he didn’t find me. Not exactly. He helped me find myself, I guess? I don’t know. We didn’t even talk that much, at first. Just hung out. You’d like him. He doesn’t pry, but he  _ knows _ , you know?” He shrugs his shoulder. “It was easy.” Frowns. “Until it wasn’t.” 

He’s not sure he’s making any sense, but Louis doesn’t speak, stays patient in a way that’s wholly un-Louis-like. “He helped me realize why I never used to leave, even when I thought people were better off without me. I stayed, because as long as they did, then, well, I’d not be alone. I’d not have to think about all the things I didn’t like about myself, the things I didn’t have the courage to change. It was easier to just do whatever everyone else wanted and expected from me. It was safe.” The hole in the comforter has widened by now, enough to dip his ring finger in alongside his pinkie. “We talked loads about that. By the time we got to Italy, we started going to the beach at night, just sat there on the sand, listening to the waves and talking. He never opened up much about himself, but we’d talk about what happened with Dani and how it wasn’t right for her to decide for me, how I’m the only person who can decide who I want to be and what I want to do.” 

Thinking about that last night, their fight, he exhales shakily. “I knew that I had to go back eventually. I also knew that he wouldn’t come with. And even if he had, I mean, things would never have been the same. Y’know? So I knew that I couldn’t stay there for him. Not that he asked me to. I don’t, I think he wanted me to stay. But not because he -- just because he didn’t want to face whatever he ran away from. Because it was easier when it wasn’t just him, when he had me around as an excuse to not have to deal with whatever he left behind.” He bites his lip. “We fought, the night before I went back. He told me that I was doing it for all the wrong reasons, basically, that I was still doing what everyone else wanted from me.” It still upsets him, thinking about it. “I told him he was a coward, for avoiding to go back.” 

Louis is still frowning, puts his empty mug on the bedside table. “That sounds shitty.” He notes softly. “From both of you. I’m sorry it had to end like that, Li.”

Liam nods. Bites his lip again. “I didn’t - part of me didn’t want it to end.” He rubs at his neck, looks up at Louis. “Part of me still feels like I don’t want it to end.” But it had. It had ended, even when part of him feels like it didn’t. 

“You miss him, huh?” Liam’s not sure why those words cause tears to prick his eyes. He swallows, looks down at the comforter, just giving a feeble shrug. 

“It’s stupid, right? We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. He knows more about me than I do about him. I didn’t even like him at first, but, he got under my skin. He never judged me.” He makes a soft sound. “Not until that last night.”


	21. Chapter 21

“I miss sleeping with him.” Liam announces one random day, about a week and a half after coming back to the apartment he shares with Louis. He heads into Louis’ room, not waiting to his permission to crawl under the covers and press himself close. It’s not the same, Louis doesn’t fit against him the way Zayn does, and he smells different, but he still lets Liam hold him, lets it comfort him even when he knows this is new territory for them. 

It’s not until they’re settled that Louis suddenly stirs, like lightning zapped him, literally shocked by Liam’s words. “You  _ slept _ with him?”

Liam frowns. “Yeah?” Realizes, from the indignant sounds coming from his best mate, that his words have gone wholly misinterpreted. “No. I mean. We slept. Actual sleeping. I miss it.” He sighs, swallows a lump in his throat. “I miss him.” He knows he told Louis that, a couple of days ago, when Louis barged into his room and took it upon himself to fix everything. He wishes Louis could fix this. 

Louis reaches for him, squeezes his hand, bringing it around himself to pull Liam closer, allowing him to find comfort in being close. “One of these days I’m gonna tease you about the giant crush you have on him,” he tells him matter of factly, “but not today.”

Liam appreciates that. Though he still stubbornly replies “Do not.”

He doesn’t have to see Louis to know he’s rolling his eyes. Hears him snort. “Alright mate. More like, you’re proper in love with him, then?”

It’s a ludicrous thought. Him, in love with Zayn? With a boy? Liam opens his mouth, closes it. Stays quiet for a moment. “How would you know,” he settles on eventually, “you’ve never been in love.”

Louis makes a sound that Liam only belatedly clues in on, but when he does, he forcibly turns Louis around, prodding him in the chest. “You’ve been in love?” He watches a blush rise on Louis’ cheeks, gapes at him. “You are in love? Where was I when this happened?”

Louis snorts again. “Italy.” And, ok, fair. But still! He’s been back almost a week, and Louis hasn’t said a thing. They’ve talked some about Zayn and Italy and Danielle (including a particularly illuminating conversation where Louis told him he’d never liked her to begin with), they’ve played FIFA and watched movies and invited Niall over for a particularly rowdy evening of pool (during which Niall was always a few seconds away from either crying or taking Liam’s eye out with the pool cue), but Louis hadn’t mentioned anything about a boy in all the time they’ve been together. Considering Liam hasn’t been back to work - he’s not too sure what he wants to do with his life, just knows he doesn’t want to go back to work for Dani’s father - he’s had plenty of time to get reacquainted with the apartment, but he hasn’t seen any signs of strange boys who might have stolen his best friend’s heart. Not even a bouquet of flowers or a pair of boxers in the laundry basket. 

“Ok. Details.” Liam presses him. It’s as though Louis has been waiting for this, has been holding his breath, because the moment he gives him the go ahead, Louis bubbles over, spilling every detail about just how they’d met.

“So, like, I went to this bar right. To drown my woes, or whatever. You’d just left and I was miserable, mate. Like, honestly messed up. So I go to our pub but there’s all these memories of us there, and I wasn’t looking forward to crying into a pint of beer or whatever, so I found this absolutely ridiculous place that you’d never go to. Like proper chandeliers and velvet plushy cushions and the cocktails were, well, divine, but also, I might’ve promised my kidneys and your first unborn child to the bartender because I’m not a bloody millionaire. So I’m sat at the bar, a proper sad drunk, spilling my guts to this angel who I swear only listened to me because he was worried I’d sneak behind the bar and just McGyver an IV out of the beer tap or something.” Louis, as much as he tries to make light of the situation, play up the whole story, looks soft in a way Liam rarely ever gets to see him. He stays quiet, letting him talk. “Anyway, I made a total idiot of myself, like, I can’t even think back on it without cringing, but, by the end of the night, he tells me his shift’s ended and he offers to drive me home. I’m thinking ok, maybe crying boys are his thing, I can work with that, but he doesn’t even try anything. Just drives me home and tucks me in bed and I might’ve tried to kiss him, which, considering I threw up just a couple minutes before, was not one of my best moves.”

Liam actually cringes at that, as does Louis. “So the next morning I unfortunately remember just how much of a fool I’ve made of myself. But I’m thinking hey, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again, right? Ok so he was totally gorgeous and completely my type, not to mention a perfect gentleman who drove me home in the middle of the night and didn’t expect anything in return, but I’m way too embarrassed to ever even look him in the face again.” He pauses, probably for dramatic effect, or maybe just because remembering how they’d met still sort of overwhelms him. Liam can sympathise. “Except then when I come back from the shop, there he is. On my doorstep. With cupcakes. Here I am, looking like death warmed over, ready to pretend I’ve never seen this man before in my life, and there he is, looking like a fucking God, bringing me cupcakes and checking up on me. Like, he literally told me that if I hadn’t come by at that time he would’ve just left the cupcakes because he wanted to make me smile. Who does that?” Louis shakes his head, unable to keep from smiling. “Harry. Harry does that. Contrary to what he made me believe, he’s not actually an angel. Just a very sweet bartender who happens to go to law school and who bakes in his spare time.”

His heart hurts, seeing Louis this way. His best friend’s not had the best luck with guys, he’s never made it beyond a couple of dates, and Liam had almost grown accustomed to the idea that Louis wasn’t the type to settle down. Which was bullshit, of course, but Louis liked to hide behind that, and as his best mate, he let him. He’s honestly so incredibly happy for him, wants to frame this Louis in a photograph and never ever let either of them forget just how wonderful it can be to be in love. 

“So you’re together? Like, actually together together?”

Louis ducks his head, blushes. “He wants to take me to Holmes Chapel to meet his mum next weekend. I’ve already met his sister, Gemma. You’d love her, Li, she’s brilliant. I actually considered - but you have Zayn now, yeah?”

His good mood deflates a bit, after that. “I’m not, we’re not, it’s-”

“Are you really going to say it’s not like that?” Louis interrupts him, but it sounds almost gentle. “Tell me you didn’t think of him. Tell me, when I told you about Harry, when I  _ gushed _ about him, that you didn’t think of Zayn.”

Liam opens his mouth to protest that, then bites his lip. He had thought of Zayn. Of the way he’d smile at him, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. Of how everything had seemed less scary when Zayn’s shoulder bumped into his. “I’m just. We’ve never. I don’t have Zayn.” It sounds a bit hollow. 

“But you like him, yeah?” Louis prompts softly.

“Well, yeah. Sure I do. He’s-” 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s been a great friend. I’ve heard that. That’s wonderful, Li. But I’ve never seen you go starry eyed over Nialler. And unless you’re talking about me like I’ve personally hung up the moon and decorated the sky with stars, he’s not a friend in the way that I’m your friend.” Liam can’t really protest that, as much as he wants to. He loves Louis, there’s no doubt about that. But not in the way he loves Zayn. He doesn’t think he loves anyone in the way he loves Zayn. 

“I’m not gay though,” he almost whispers it, so soft he’s not sure Louis has even heard it. He’s not sure he wouldn’t prefer that, if he’s honest.

“I’m not saying you are, love,” Louis’ voice sounds patient. “You don’t need to label yourself. You don’t even need to know exactly what it is you’re feeling. Just as long as you know that whatever you feel, it’s ok. It’d be ok if you did consider Zayn to be more than just a mate.”

Liam swallows, looks up at him. “It is?”

Louis nods, wraps his arms around him. “Yeah, Li. It’s alright. Whatever you feel, it’s always alright, yeah? Feelings are never wrong. They’re confusing and frustrating sometimes, but you always have the right to feel what you feel, yeah? No one gets to tell you that you can’t. Just because you’ve never liked boys before doesn’t mean that you can’t. Doesn’t mean that you can’t like Zayn. And even if you’ll never like boys again, that doesn’t make the way you feel right now any less valid.”

“Feels weird,” he hums, looking up at Louis. “Like. I never thought of myself as, y’know. I mean you’ve been with girls but you’ve always told me that you weren’t really in love. That you just weren’t ready to admit that you wanted to be with a boy instead.” 

Louis looks somewhat amused. “Yea, but, Li, I’m gay. Liking Zayn doesn’t necessarily make you gay. You know that, right? That there’s more than just gay and straight. The way you felt for Dani was real, right? So maybe you’re bisexual. Or pansexual. Or maybe it doesn’t matter what you identify as. It just matters that you like him.”

Hearing it like this, it’s sort of soothing, in a way. Makes him feel settled. “I do,” he admits, wondering if maybe it should feel like a more momentous occasion. His very first crush on a boy. It doesn’t feel so scary though. Not unless he allows himself to think about the fact that Zayn is no longer a part of his life. Or that his silly crush might be unrequited. “Quite a lot, if I’m honest.”

He gets a hug from Louis in response, a kiss to the top of his head. “Alright then. So now that we’ve established that you quite fancy Zayn, what are we going to do about it?”

Well. That is sort of the problem, isn’t it? Because Zayn’s in Italy, and even if he wasn’t, Liam doesn’t have any of his contact information. He doesn’t even know his last name. Just knows that it starts with M, but other than that, he doesn’t have a clue to go on. Even if Zayn isn’t a really common name in the UK, he doubts it’ll be all that easy to track him down.

“I’ve no idea.” He says glumly, letting Louis cuddle him because he’s selfish and sad and the thought of never seeing Zayn again  _ hurts _ . He stays quiet for a moment, head ducked and forehead pressed against Louis’ collarbone. It is what it is, his chest tattoo reads, and Liam thinks  _ isn’t that the truth _ . “D’you think I’ve made a mistake?” he asks him softly. “Coming back? D’you think I should’ve stayed there?”

Louis takes the time to think it over, his fingers carding through Liam’s hair. “No,” he settles on eventually. “I think staying for any other reason than that it was what you needed would’ve been a mistake. That was sort of the point of this whole thing, wasn’t it? You’ve always done what other people wanted. Staying because Zayn wanted you to, that would’ve been - you wouldn’t have been happy, eventually.”

Liam exhales, a little shaky. “I don’t think I was happy, by the end of it. I kept trying to ignore it, because it felt like we were in this together, you know? Me and him. He did so much for me, we went to Italy because I wasn’t ready to go home but money was running out, and then I just .. I felt like such an asshole, abandoning him. But staying there - I just wish we wouldn’t have fought. I wish I wouldn’t have called him a coward. I don’t blame him, if he hates me. If he never wants to talk to me again.” He can feel his throat closing up, feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “But I  _ miss _ him, Lou.”

Louis nods, ruffling his hair, going so far as to press a kiss to the top of his head. It reminds Liam of his mum, of how she used to hold him and how safe he felt, how no matter how bad things got, he always knew that in the end, it’d turn out ok. He’s never realized just how much Louis can make him feel the same. Never appreciated how good it feels to be vulnerable in front of him, while at the same time knowing that Louis trusts him to be strong enough to fix things on his own. It makes it so much easier to ask for help. He’s not asking Louis to fix this. Just to help him figure out how he can fix this himself.

“We’ll figure something out, yeah?” Louis promises him. “It won’t be the end, not yet.” Liam smiles. Louis always has been a not-so-closet romantic. His desire for a happily ever after is matched by his endless optimism. Liam really is lucky to have a best friend like Louis Tomlinson. 


	22. Chapter 22

Figuring it out isn’t so easy when all you have to go on is a first name, no matter how beautiful and exotic in origin that name is.

(Liam found out that his name _literally_ means beauty or grace, and if that isn’t just too stupidly accurate and prophetic he doesn’t know what is. Good job, Zayn’s parents)

He wishes he could remember the names of his sisters. He knows Zayn has three, knows they talked about them the once, back when they were still getting to know each other. He can recall so much of that day in the Efteling, but it’s mostly things that don’t bring him any further in his quest to track down Zayn. Knowing how long his lashes are, or how his eyes crinkle when he laughs, isn’t all that helpful.

It does make him realize how stupid he was for not realizing his feelings earlier, though. Because he couldn’t for the life of him describe Louis’ eyelashes hitting his cheek, and he’s known him for years. So much for just being friends. But even if he can appreciate Zayn’s beauty in hindsight, that doesn’t really help him much further. He doubts he could just type _stupidly attractive boys named Zayn in the UK_ and find him that way.

(He tried though)

He doesn’t think, if he’d known his sisters’ names, that he would’ve felt comfortable reaching out to them anyway. For one, he doesn’t quite know how old they are, but friending a teenager on Facebook is probably going to look a little creepy. And he doesn’t know what Zayn’s relationship with his family is. Or how they’d react to finding out that some random guy knows where he might be, or at the very least had been about a month ago. If Zayn left for a reason, Liam doesn’t want to fuck things up for him by waltzing into his life and sharing personal details.

He did try and find Zayn on facebook, but although he’d found a few people named Zayn, none of them were in the UK, and none of them were his Zayn. The same thing happened on Instagram and Twitter, after which Liam decided that apparently Zayn wasn’t the social media guy, or if he was, he liked to stay completely private and off the grid. He doesn’t think it’s right to keep digging, no matter how much Louis insists that all’s fair in love and war.

Still, Facebook doesn’t turn out to be a total bust, because in a moment of absolute genius, he decides to see if he could find any of the people he’d worked with at the hotel. It takes him a while, but he eventually finds a Clara that he’s pretty sure is the right Clara. Clara Zito, who lives and works in the beautiful Castiglione della Pescaia. Her profile picture is of a black and white cat, lounging in the sun, and although Liam can’t recall her ever mentioning something about a cat, he’s close enough to convinced that it’s her that he risks adding her on Facebook.

It takes a few days, but eventually the friendship request is accepted. Liam’s glad that he thought to change his profile picture to something more recent, so she’d know it was him and not some random guy trying to chat her up. He waits a day so as to not seem creepy, before messaging her. She responds fairly quickly, possibly because this is her day off, because Liam’s pretty sure that she wouldn’t risk Facebooking at work. She uses a lot of emoticons to try and get her excitement across, tells him in broken English that she is happy to hear from him, and is sorry for her bad English.

(Which, Liam thinks anyone who speaks a second language, let alone attempts to learn one as an adult, is absolutely someone to admire, and should never have to apologize for not being fluent)

They chat a bit about their life. Liam doesn’t want to ask her straightaway, doesn’t want her thinking he’s just added her to find out more about Zayn. In fact, he doesn’t bring it up until she does. He’s just apologized for leaving so abruptly, when she tells him _your boyfriend was very sad_. She punctuates her words with a frowny faced smiley, followed by a crying emoji. The thought of Zayn actually crying over him, of not being able to hide it in front of the other staff members, makes him cringe. To be honest, it makes him want to cry too.

 _Zayn?_ he types, fingers pausing on the keyboard because what does he say? Part of him wants to explain to her that he’s not his boyfriend (albeit, hopefully not his boyfriend _yet_ ), but he’s not sure she’d understand him well enough to get into that. _Is he still there?_ That might be an odd question, he muses. She probably thinks he’s an asshole, abandoning his boyfriend and then not bothering to keep in touch for over a month. He’ll risk it though, her disapproval. Because if she tells him yes then at least he knows where to find him. And maybe she’d even be willing to pass along a message.

 _Mi dispiace_ , she types out, and Liam figures that means I’m sorry, because she follows it up by a sad faced smiley. _He leave for two days._

Fuck. His face falls, frown replacing the hopeful smile that he hadn’t even realized was on his face. He’d been too realistic to hope, he’d told himself, but knowing that Zayn wasn’t there, that he could be anywhere -- it’s a big world, and last he heard Zayn wasn’t planning on coming home. _It’s ok_ , he tells her, not even bothering to hold his breath when he types his next question. _He say anything about where he was going? Leave any contact information?_

He doesn’t have to wait long for an answer. He appreciates that. As far as ripping off the bandaid goes he much prefers it to be fast. _No. Sorry. He did not talk._ He’s not sure if that means Zayn just hadn’t told her or if he really hadn’t been talking to anyone, but it makes his heart ache all the same.

 _It’s ok_ , he tells her yet again. What else can he say?

 

When Louis comes home from work that night, he takes one look at Liam, then sighs, picking his jacket back off the couch he’d thrown it on. “C’mon then,” he tells him, motioning for him to get up. Liam makes a face.

“Where are we going?” He’s perfectly comfortable, thanks. Dressed in jogging pants and a shirt, thick fluffy socks on his feet for no other reason than that they’re nice and warm and he kind of likes the way he can slide through the room or attempt to moonwalk in these. Not that he’s done much of that. In all honesty he’s not sure where the day went. He might’ve taken a nap in the afternoon that lasted too long to really be classified as a nap.

“Out,” Louis tells him, heading on over and attempting to tug him up off the couch. Liam, apparently in a petty mood, does nothing to aid him. “C’mon Payno. Get up. You’re gonna shower, and we’re gonna head out. I give you twenty minutes, before I’m coming in and taking over.”

Liam arches an eyebrow at him. “You gonna wash me?” he teases, but Louis doesn’t look all that amused.

“If I have to. Trust me, I’m not looking forward to it. So do us both a favor and get yourself remotely presentable, alright?”

He heaves a big sigh, pushing himself up off the sofa. “I’m really not in the mood to go anywhere tonight Lou,” he tells him, getting an unimpressed stare from Louis in return.

“Yea, I’d noticed. You’ve been moping. Not on my watch. C’mon. Shower, clothes, we’re headed out. Food, maybe a bar after. You need a night out mate. Sitting here, sulking, isn’t going to help anyone. It certainly isn’t going to make you find Zayn any faster. You need a change of scenery. D’you think Zayn would be impressed if he saw you right now?” It might sound harsh, but Liam knows that Louis has a point. He might need a little bit of tough love. “You came back because you wanted to face up to your mistakes, because you were ready to show the world the new and improved Liam Payne. Well, let’s go then. Let’s show him off to the world tonight.”

Liam can’t help but hug him for that, even when Louis splutters and complains that he smells. He still sinks into the embrace though, even when he leaves him with quick fingers digging into his ribs. “Thanks Lou,” he mutters, hiding a smile in his hair.

He’s pretty sure Lou is hiding a smile against his shirt in response. “Yeah yeah. Now gerroff and hurry up already, I’m starving.”

 

Liam has to admit that after a shower and an outfit change he does feel a little more ready to face the world. Louis is right, there’s no point sitting at home and moping about the fact that he can’t find Zayn. Not that going out for a bite to eat and a few beers is going to magically make him appear, or even give him a clue on where to start looking, but it beats scrolling through Netflix and popping in a game of FIFA only to quit before the match had fully loaded.

They end up inviting Niall out with them, and although Harry is working and Louis is about 99% sure he won’t be able to meet them, it’s sort of required to invite him to tag along. Liam likes seeing how pink Louis goes just from a text message, how soft his best friend can get. He’d tease him, but, he rather values his balls right where they are.

(That, and he hopes that there will come a point where he will go soft and blushy over someone -- Zayn -- and he knows Louis would absolutely torment him. And doubly so if he remembered Liam teasing him)

Even if the burgers taste sort of bland and the fries are too salty, it’s still nice to be out. To focus on something else, for a change. Niall complains about his job, to which Louis and Liam dutifully hum and ah in sympathy, Liam a bit moreso because he actually remembers just how shitty that job has been. Despite Niall’s complaining, Liam’s not remotely surprised when he suddenly asks when Liam’s coming back.

And. Well. “I don’t think I am,” he says quietly. “Sorry mate.”

Niall swipes a fry through his ketchup, frowning. “You sure? I’m pretty sure that he’d give you your job back, if you asked. I mean, the man was practically your father in law for years.”

Liam makes a face at that. “Yea. That’s pretty much why I’m not exactly jumping at the prospect of coming back. I’m kind of done with that part of my life.”

As much as he can tell Niall misses him and would love to persuade him to take his job back, he just watches him nod, drag another fry through the ketchup on his plate. “Fair enough,” Niall tells him, giving him a smile. “Where’ll you be moving onto then?”

“I’m not too sure yet, to be honest,” he tells them. “I mean. Maybe it’s silly, but, I kind of really enjoyed working at that hotel in Italy. So I was sort of considering, like, maybe Hotel Management? I haven’t really looked into anything, but. I figured it might be kind of cool? I wasn’t too bad at it, and I know part of it might just be that I did something I haven’t done before and maybe I’d get bored after a while, but working at the front desk, interacting with all those people, it was really nice. And I’d watch the managers deal with all kinds of things and I thought, man, I’d never be able to do that. But also, I sort of want to?” He shrugs a shoulder, sheepish. “Is that really stupid?”

Niall’s mid bite so it falls to Louis to answer. His almost manic grin is nothing like he expected, but the hand that lands on his shoulder is softer than he’d anticipated. “That’s brilliant, Payno.” His smile softens, as though he’s deliberately toning it down. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about something in that way. You’ve always been like, well, you know.”

Liam nods. “I know.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then we’ll have to make that happen. We’ll look into colleges and all that. Are you thinking part time?” Louis doesn’t give him time to answer. “Never mind that now, we’ll have time to figure it out. This is great, Li. You going off to do something you really love - that’s brilliant. I’m proud of you mate.” He flicks his finger against Liam’s cheek, like he blames him for how mushy the moment’s getting. Liam doesn’t mind the sting, just grins at him. “I say we celebrate!”

After finishing their burgers and washing them down with a too sweet strawberry milkshake, they head out in search of a bar that will take three rambunctious young men with money to spare and a thirst for fine hops - that description, of course, courtesy of Louis. It’s a nice night out, so they don’t mind roaming around for a bit, finally settling on a place they’ve been to a few times before. Niall wanted to head to their usual hangout, but Liam’s not really interested in fielding questions about his absence all night long, especially considering he’s been back for a month already. He doesn’t have many real friends besides Louis and Niall, but people can still get nosey, and although he appreciates that people have apparently (possibly at least) missed him, he’d much rather spend his night with his two best friends, drinking perhaps a bit more than is strictly responsible.

But oh well. It’s not like he’s working tomorrow. Neither is Lou, and Niall can hold his liquor better than anyone - not that he’ll drink that much that it’ll affect his work. Liam finds that sort of admirable. Niall doesn’t like his job any better than Liam did, but he still gives it his all, still enjoys his life so much. Sometimes he wonders if there’s anything that can break his spirit. He doesn’t plan to find out.

They chat for a while, about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other’s company and the slightly bitter taste the beer leaves on their tongues. It’s nice. Like old times, though Liam knows that isn’t exactly true. Because in the old times, he was with Dani, and she didn’t like him going out and drinking with his friends. Had called him irresponsible, and Louis a bad influence. It’s weird, how he can acknowledge all of that now, when he wouldn’t have been able to say one bad word about her back then. Not even after she’d cheated on him. He’d still defended her, because he would have sworn she deserved it.

His beer tastes all the better for it, knowing that he doesn’t have to come home and explain himself to Danielle, doesn’t have to apologize for the way his breath smells like alcohol and how he’s perhaps not as quiet as he’d like to be. He thinks of Zayn and - but that’s not fair. He doesn’t know how Zayn would be in day to day life. How it’d be to be in a relationship with him. He tries to be conscious of that, of not putting Zayn up on a pedestal the way he’d done to Danielle. Not because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it (even with the way they’d left things he still thought Zayn was one of the best people he’d ever met) but because he doesn’t want to make the same mistakes he’d made before. Didn’t want to put that pressure on him, to idealize him and make it so he was unable to make mistakes. Which is kind of strange, because he doesn’t think he did that with him. Or, if he’s honest, with Danielle. As much as she always told him he did, he was never blind for her faults. Just chose to forgive her, over and over. That’s one mistake he certainly doesn’t want to make again.

He’s not sure why he’s thinking about Dani so much, when he has his friends with him and a nice cold beer in front of him on the table, but then he catches a flash of curly brown hair and he wonders if his subconscious had registered it before. The brunette disappears into the crowd on the dancefloor though, and Liam shrugs it off, figures it’s just a coincidence.

It’s not, apparently, because when he’s on his way to the loo, he bumps into a boy, and an apology dies on his lips when he sees the woman whose arm is curled around his waist. He blinks. “Dani. Hey.”

Her eyes widen, in that way that Liam isn’t sure is surprise or slight disapproval, but her mouth curls up into one of those smiles that used to always make his heart race. “Liam. I didn’t know you were back.” Despite the sweet expression on her face there is definite disapproval in her tone. Liam tries not to wince. The _why didn’t you call_ is obvious even when it goes unsaid. He wonders if he should be mad at her for it. Wonders if she was genuinely hurt when he left, if she’s hurt now that he hasn’t gotten in touch with her. Despite everything, he hopes she isn’t.

Still, he doesn’t apologize, just nods. “Yeah, I have been for about a month.” He watches the fine lines around her mouth get a little more pronounced at that, doesn’t miss the way she presses closer to the boy she’s with. Liam’s almost grateful for the way he presses a kiss against her temple, casually extracts himself from a potentially awkward situation by offering to get her a new drink. She accepts with an almost distracted nod. Watching the boy leave, his eyes track him for a moment before returning to Danielle. “New boyfriend?”

He’s not sure why that makes her bristle. But when he looks at her, her eyes are glittering with barely concealed frustration. “Yes,” she makes it sound like a challenge. “I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for you, Liam. Not after the way you left. Not when you didn’t even bother to let me know where you were. I was worried sick-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts her, the way he smiles making her deflate a little, her shoulders sagging and Liam’s not sure if she’d hoped for the apology or hates having to hear it. “You’re right, I should’ve let you know that I was leaving.” He bites down on his bottom lip. “I made a lot of mistakes, these past few months,” he acknowledges, “but I don’t regret leaving. And I don’t regret not talking to you, because I needed to distance myself from who we were and who I had been. We weren’t good together, Dani, as much as I tried to believe that we were.”

He watches her part her lips, but she doesn’t speak up. Doesn’t leave though, so he considers that a success. She must be surprised, he thinks, at him actually acknowledging those things. At not sweeping everything under the rug the way he’d been so accustomed to doing. He hopes she is, anyway. Hopes she’s proud of him, in a sense. “I didn’t let you know that I was back because I didn’t think there was any reason to. You cheated on me, and while I tried to work on forgiving you, you broke up with me. And nothing you can say makes that okay. And the fact that you blamed me for everything, like I was so terrible to you -” he stops himself there, shakes his head. “I didn’t contact you because I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to fight. Because for a really long time you made me happy, and I didn’t want the way it ended to overshadow everything. I loved you. We both made mistakes, we both messed up, but I loved you. And if it’s all the same to you, then I’d rather remember that than the ways we broke each other.”

When he looks at her, running a little out of steam, he’s surprised to see tears in her eyes. “I loved you too,” she whispers, almost too soft to hear over the music. “Whatever you think of me, Liam, I really did.”

He’s relieved, to hear that. In a way, it’s what he’d needed to hear. It doesn’t magically erase what had happened, it doesn’t make it ok, but it’s something that might just give both of them a little closure. “I don’t think badly of you, Dani. I try not to, at least. There’s still a ton of stuff I’m working on, and in a way I’m almost grateful for what happened, because if this, us, if it hadn’t crashed and burned so spectacularly, then I wouldn’t have ever left.” He wouldn’t have met Zayn. “I wouldn’t have learned the things about myself that I did.”

Her smile this time is genuine. Soft, almost fond. “I’m glad then. Despite what it might have seemed like, you’ve always been a pretty great guy, Liam. Just, maybe you’re right. Maybe we weren’t right together.”

He smiles back, nods. “I hope that you’re happy. I hope this new boyfriend of yours - you deserve to be happy.”

“So do you,” she seems hesitant, bites her lip. “Are you, is there, are you seeing anyone?”

Liam shakes his head. “No. I mean, there’s someone, I met someone, but-” He can see the emotion in her eyes, that flicker that tells him she’s stuck between feeling happy for him and perhaps feeling a bit jealous at the same time. He supposes he can understand that. It’s hard, knowing someone else has a piece of the life you left behind.

“She’s a very lucky girl then,” she offers softly. Liam holds back an almost nervous laugh.

“Uh. Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, watches her new boyfriend come up to her, two drinks in his hand. He’s surprised when he offers one to him, tells him he wasn’t sure what to get him but that he could go get something else if he wanted him to. “No, thanks man, that’s great. Very nice of you, cheers.” He takes a sip, smiles at them. “Hey. Good luck together.” He tells them earnestly. “I should head back to my friends, but it was good seeing you, Dani. Take care.”

Dani nods, wraps her arm around her new boyfriend again. “Tell them hi. And good luck with--”

“Zayn,” Liam calls out, as he’s turned around and headed a few steps towards his friends. He doesn’t bother to look back at her face. “His name’s Zayn.”


	23. Chapter 23

With the whole situation with Danielle brought to an end, Liam feels much lighter. The weather is improving too, and with it, his mood. Although he still wishes that he could have found Zayn, he doesn’t let it drag him down anymore, figuring that if their paths are meant to cross a second time they will. The best thing he can do is whatever’s right for himself. Be independent and responsible and work towards the future that he wants. With Louis and Niall as his loyal cheerleaders he’s determined to continue on the path towards self discovery that he started on with Zayn. He thinks there’s something poetic in that, something comforting, knowing that no matter what, Zayn left a permanent impression on his life.

He’s still hoping he’ll meet him again someday though. The way he feels for him doesn’t fade with the increasing number of days that separate his time with Zayn from where he is now. He still dreams about him from time to time. Sometimes it’s something as simple as being on the beach with him again, hearing his voice, smelling cigarettes and salt. Except they’re holding hands, which is what makes it clear that it’s a dream and not a memory. One morning Liam wakes up and he can so vividly recall the way Zayn’s thumb had brushed over his knuckles that he wouldn’t be surprised to find some sort of remnant on his skin. 

Other times his dreams are less realistic. It’ll start off with something from his memories, and then just turn into something so weird he’d almost start questioning his sanity. He remembers one where he’s with Zayn in Paris and the next scene he’s in Australia and Zayn is, for some odd reason, a kangaroo, who carries his sketchbooks in his pouch. Just as Liam’s about to ask him how he can even hold a pencil with those tiny arms, the scene changes again and they’re in a waterpark, Zayn’s arms around him, begging him not to let go because he can’t swim. He’s wearing floaties but he’s laughing, obviously playing up his fear to stay close to him. Not that Liam minds. He’s got his arms around him, fingers warm on his waist, and then, bam, they’re in Vegas, in gorgeous suits in a chapel except they’re not getting married, rather, Liam is the minister, marrying Zayn off to some gorgeous long haired model. 

Every morning, without fail, there’s this brief moment of sadness, darkness tangling around his heart and squeezing. But every morning Liam reminds himself that at least he gets to dream about him, and that if that’s the trade off, he’d much rather dream about Zayn - even when he sometimes loses him in his dreams - than never meet him again, even if he never sees him when he’s awake.

With June turning into July, Louis takes a week and a half off from work. Liam had recently sold his car to make his half of the rent, so they’re taking Louis’ car to go up to their families. The plan is for Liam to drop Louis off in Doncaster before making the trip down to Wolverhampton for a few days. Afterwards, Louis plans to take a train down to Wolverhampton, so the two of them can take a short vacation. They haven’t really planned anything beyond that, which isn’t Liam’s usual style at all, but after telling Louis all about his impromptu trip to Europe, he really has no excuse not to just get in a car and see where the road would take them. At least this time they don’t need passports and dictionaries to make any plans. 

Even with a limited budget (Liam still hasn’t got a job, and he doesn’t feel very comfortable spending his parents’ money, or Louis’ for that matter) it promises to be a fun trip, and as Louis had told him when he protested his friend spending money on him,  _ he _ hadn’t had a holiday in forever, and Liam’s only choice was  _ when  _ they were going, not if or where. Liam really is so lucky to have mates like this.

It’s nice, being on the road, driving again, even if Louis falls asleep in the car before they’ve even made it out of London. Liam doesn’t mind all that much though. It’s early, the sun’s barely up, and with music playing quietly through the car’s speakers and Louis’ soft snoring accompanying him, he’s content to be behind the wheel. They stop for lunch along the way, Louis charming the waitresses at the diner into an extra slice of pie, and Liam, for the first time, just feels absolutely content.

He doesn’t lose that feeling when he’s home in Wolverhampton, when his mum cooks him food and hugs him like she hasn’t seen him in years. He doesn’t lose it when they talk about his plans. For the first time his future doesn’t frighten him, and when he tells his parents that he can see the telltale shimmer in his mother’s eyes. They offer any help that he might need and he’s reminded all over again just how lucky he is to have these people in his life. Even without Zayn there is so much happiness in his life, and he’s so utterly grateful that he finally gets to appreciate that all over again. The simple way in which they’re there for him, from his mum cooking his favorite foods to his dad offering him financial aid until he can apply for a student loan. From the way they hug Louis when he arrives, even the way he overhears his mum whispering a heartfelt  _ thank you _ to him that he’s pretty sure wasn’t meant for his ears. 

It’s not that everything’s perfect, of course. Not even when it’s just him and Lou, away on their short trip. They get on each other’s nerves, cramped together in far smaller spaces than they’re used to. Louis gripes about the fact that Liam overpacks and Liam complains about the fact that Louis is such a messy person, and both of them kick up a fuss about each other’s taste in music, but none of it matters, at the end of the day. Because none of it measures up to the way they love each other. Even when they get rained on rather abysmally on the last day of their trip, they both come home in high spirits. Liam’s half sure Louis is just glad to be back because it means seeing Harry again (he asked him why he hadn’t taken him on the vacation instead, and Louis had stared at him rather blankly before shoving his shoulder, telling him not everyone was ready to start living in each other’s pockets after a week of knowing them), but he’s similarly floating on cloud nine, just happy to have the love and acceptance of his best friend. Life’s honestly starting to feel pretty good.

 

The summer goes by quickly at that rate. Liam looks into school, finds that there’s so many courses at so many locations that he honestly doesn’t know what will be the right fit for what he plans to do. He’s not sure he’ll end up liking it, but for now, it’s something that he can see himself doing. But the thought of attending classes for four years - he’s never been that great at the theory part of it all. Part of him wonders why he can’t just walk into a hotel lobby and ask for a job, work himself up that way. But then he remembers how hard it had been in Italy. He doubts it’ll be any easier in London. So he figures going back to school might be his best bet, even if it will mean hard work for the next couple of years. 

After googling for what feels like weeks, reading up on joint honours degrees and what exactly foundation years are, if he should opt for something with a placement, or whether to go for full time or part time, he’s decided that he might as well go for it. It’s a weird idea though, knowing that as of September he’ll be enrolled in school, studying Hospitality Management.

He decides on the part time degree. Even if it’ll take him a year longer he figures it’s easier if he can switch off work and classes, not to mention, he will be able to make a bit of money on the side. It’s not as much as he got when he was working full time, but it’s better than nothing, and with his student loans and his parents chipping in, it should at least be doable.

Terrifying, but doable. Which is something he’d never considered before. Taking such a huge risk. It’s weird, thinking back on how much has changed. Sometimes Liam wakes up and he swears he’s back in Italy, back with Zayn, but then he opens his eyes and he’s in his own bedroom and oh, right, it’s August. He hasn’t seen Zayn in three months. The amount of time since he’s seen Zayn is double the amount of time he’s actually known him, which is a completely fucked up thing to think about.

He wonders if Zayn has forgotten him.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to forget him.

Overall though, things are good. Much better than they were before he left. He doesn’t regret leaving, just as he doesn’t regret coming back. But it still feels unfinished. He wonders if it always will. If going to school will make it better or worse. Maybe three years from now he won’t remember all those little things he does now. Maybe he won’t be able to recall the way Zayn’s eyes looked, or how he smelled after he’d showered. Maybe he won’t quite remember how he’d held himself, can’t close his eyes and visualize the way Zayn’s fingers had held onto his pencil that day in the vineyards. 

Sometimes Liam looks through the pictures on his phone and thinks  _ I miss you. I wish I knew where to find you. I wish I’d know for sure whether or not you’d want me to _ . He thinks it so hard that if he believed in such things, he’d be convinced he could send that thought to Zayn.

Other days he thinks  _ if it’s meant to be it will be. But why can’t it be now? Why can’t I see him now? If it’s meant to be, why isn’t there some sign? _

Overall, he’s happy, but he’s not complete. And the longer it goes on, the more he wonders if he ever will be.

*

Louis barges into his bedroom, barely bothering with a “hello” from the doorway before he grabs Liam’s book from his hands, tosses it carelessly onto the bed. “How much do you love me right now?”

Liam frowns, looks at his book, then at Louis. “I was reading that. It was really good. So. Are you sure you want me to answer that question?”

Louis waves it off, pats Liam’s leg, and damn, he’s jittery. Liam wonders if he went to the bakery again, had five cups of coffee just so he could watch Harry work. It’d be creepy if they weren’t still as enamored with each other as they were three months ago. If he wasn’t sure Harry would do the exact same thing if he was allowed. “Details.” 

“I could use some more of those,” Liam points out dryly, shifting a bit so he can scratch at his stomach. He was having a nice, relaxing afternoon before Louis stormed in and he’d quite like to get back to that. Even if his curiosity is more piqued by Louis’ behaviour than by the book he was reading. 

Louis blinks at him slowly, as though he’s not quite sure what Liam’s on about, and maybe he just feels like Liam should tell him how much he loves him for no reason at all. Liam’s almost about to acquiesce when Louis stirs again, almost as if he’s been zapped by lightning. He digs into the pockets of his skinny jeans (Liam watched him put them on this morning, wiggling and jumping around to get his arse into them, which was ridiculous but amusing - Liam’s easily amused these days) until he produces a rather crumpled up flyer. “I found your boy.”

“You found my-” Liam’s almost embarrassed by how long it takes, how everything seems to go in slow motion and he’s looking from Louis down to the paper in his hand and back up at his face in what feels like minutes. “What.” He’d lunge for the paper and rip it out of his hands if Louis didn’t have such a good grip on it, or if it didn’t look like it was already crumpled up enough that he might lose whatever information is on there that helped Louis find him. 

Louis beams at him, eyes him, smile widening when Liam suddenly feels like he’s zapped by lightning too, his muscles spazzing for a moment before he can force himself to sit down at the edge of the bed rather than lounge about against his pillows. “I did,” Liam can forgive him his smugness, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to forgive him for how absolutely slow he is. “ZM. Zayn Malik. Fits, yeah?”

Apparently finally realizing Liam’s about to burst out of his skin, impatience and nerves wreaking havoc on his body, Louis takes pity on him and sits down with him, smoothing out the crumpled paper to reveal a flyer. To some kind of art show. “Look, I’m not a hundred percent sure, I’ll admit that. But it could be, yea? He’s got the same initials as your Zayn, and you said he liked to draw and stuff, right?” He taps the paper with his index finger. “This Zayn is part of an art show. Hazza told me about it, apparently the gallery next to the bakery hosts these little shows of students who want to apply to art school? Like, I think it’s supposed to be a showcase of some of their work, different techniques and whatnot. Sort of like a resume? The teachers are gonna come by and judge, and it’s this weekend.”

This weekend. Liam looks up at his calendar. It’s Thursday. He makes a sort of strangled noise, which has Louis leaning into him, an arm around his waist. “It’s Thursday,” he says quietly, or he tries to, but no sound really comes out. He feels like he can’t breathe. It’s Thursday and the art show is this weekend, and it’s been too long since he’s seen Zayn but it’s this  _ weekend _ and it’s only two days until the weekend and- “I can’t.”

Louis pinches him, pulls him in a little bit. “Li. Breathe.” He doesn’t ask him why he can’t, doesn’t tell him he’s an idiot and of course he can. He just tells him “inhale, exhale, good, just like that, Li.” until he doesn’t feel so much like panicking anymore. Liam would ask him how he knows to do that, but he remembers Louis telling him once, when he’d talked Niall down from a panic attack. His sister Fizzy used to get them in middle school. He’d learned how to recognize the signs, how to help people regain their focus.

God, he loves Louis so much. Might splutter out something like that, and for once Louis doesn’t tease him about it. He just smiles. “Better?” He asks softly. Liam nods. “Do you want some water?”

Liam nods again, then shakes his head. “I’m terrified,” he whispers, fingers curled into Louis’ shirt so he can’t leave. “What if it’s not him? What if it  _ is _ him? What do I say? I haven’t seen him in three months. What if he doesn’t want to see me?” Louis gently untangles his fingers, squeezes his hand, letting Liam hold onto it.

“Breathe. It’ll be ok, Li. If it’s not your Zayn then that just means that we’re going to find him someplace else. And then we’ll get to see some art show that we might not like but the worst thing that can happen is that we’ve wasted a night. No big. And if it  _ is _ your Zayn -- won’t you want to find out? Even if it goes badly, won’t you want to know? Once and for all? You’ve been thinking about him for months. You’re not gonna ever know if it could’ve worked out if you don’t take a chance.”


	24. Chapter 24

“So I’ve been on this journey,” Liam starts, struggling to find the right words. “Right?”

He gets a nod in response. “Right. Amsterdam, Paris, Italy.”

“No, I mean. A metaphorical one. And I’ve, I’ve learned a lot, and it’s led me to-”

“It’s led you to me?”

He huffs. “No. I’m, it’s led me to  _ me _ . To figuring out what I want.”

“And what you want is me.” 

Liam groans, hides his head in his hands. “If you’re going to take the piss out of me, Lou, I’d rather you not help.” Louis’ amused chuckle does little to soothe his already frazzled nerves, though he tries, rubs Liam’s back in an unspoken apology.  “Is it really that corny?” He doesn’t dare to glance up at him. He knew this was a mistake, practicing this conversation, had known it from the moment Louis had positively lit up with glee at the prospect of playing Zayn. 

Chancing a look at him, nerves and insecurity be damned, Louis looks thoughtful. Not mocking, like part of him suspected. “Sort of, but it’s sweet, Li.”

“I just want to say the right thing.” He can’t help but sound a little whiny.

“I know. But you’re not going to. Not because you’re incapable of saying the right thing, but because once you’re stood in front of him, you’re not going to have all those perfectly thought out conversations. You don’t know how he’s going to react, for one, and even if everything played out the way you wanted it, chances are you’re going to forget everything you’ve wanted to tell him the moment you see him again.” Liam lets out a rather pitiful sounding moan at that, pillowing his head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis continues, undeterred. “I know you’re trying to find the right words, so he’ll hear you out, so he’ll forgive you. And you’re right, this might be the only time you’re going to talk to him-” Liam almost wants to tell him to please stop helping, because if this is Louis’ idea of cheering him up (or on), it’s not exactly doing the job. “But it might not be. He might see you there and feel relieved.”

“You think?”

Louis gently shrugs his shoulder, making sure Liam doesn’t get knocked in the side of the head. Though Louis would probably say it helps. Honestly, Liam thinks it can’t hurt. Maybe he could use someone literally knocking some sense into him. Because he’s floundering, trying to figure out how to get Zayn back when he’s never been his in the first place. He can’t give up without trying though. No matter what ends up happening.

“I don’t know, Li. I’ve never met the bloke. But he’d be daft not to fancy you. I know that much.” 

Liam smiles, despite himself. “You never did though,” he points out subtly. Not so subtly, judged by the eyeroll Louis gives him. 

“You’re my best mate. Besides, who says I haven’t fancied you? Who says I haven’t spent nights dreaming about you, or worse? Moaning your name, wishing it was your hand around my cock-”

“Louis!” Liam splutters, shoves him, making a face though Louis’ delighted cackle doesn’t fail to bring a smile to his face.

“Lighten up, Li. It’ll all work out. I promise.”

He wants to tell him that that’s a ridiculous thing to promise. That there are no guarantees, Liam’s fully aware of that. He doesn’t though. Just appreciates the sentiment.

 

**** For a while, at least. He lasts all through Friday afternoon and well into the evening, but once it’s time for bed and he’s out of things to occupy his mind with, it all comes racing back. It causes him to storm into Louis’ room --

\-- and run back out, apologizing profusely. “Oh my God, sorry! I didn’t know you were - hi Harry - shit, sorry, I didn’t see anything, I’ll go!” He’s got a hand in front of his eyes, backs away into the corridor, only to hear Louis grumble and Harry giggle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Liam,” Louis groans, zipping himself up by the sounds of it, not that Liam’s paying much attention, he’s already heard quite enough thank you. “Come on back in, we were clearly overdue for another freak out.”

“No!” Liam protests, “no, I’m, I’m alright thanks.” He can hear Harry, voice thoughtful, say something about how he might as well come in because he could maybe use some tips and  _ rude _ . True, but still, very rude. And he does not need to see his best mate getting sucked off by his boyfriend. He can just watch porn like any other self respecting lad in a sexuality crisis.

Louis cackles, obviously not nearly as mortified as Liam is. “Well, if you’re not coming in, mind closing the door then?” he suggests, and Liam is about to do just that when he realizes that he’s gonna know now. And it’s not that he’s stupid, it’s not that he didn’t think Harry and Louis had sex, but it’s one thing to know it in theory and quite another to know that it’s actually happening right now. He hears Harry whisper something to Louis, too soft for him to make out, though Louis doesn’t bother to lower his voice and pretend that Liam isn’t still within earshot. He might even be doing it on purpose, Liam thinks. “Since when does that bug you? Just last week you-” Liam, thank God, will never have to hear exactly what Louis and Harry got up to last week, because Harry cuts his boyfriend off with a petulant  _ heeey _ , something that has no right to sound endearing when Liam’s pretty sure Harry’s not even gotten up from the floor yet. 

He can hear Harry sigh though, and then there are hands tugging at his elbows, Harry’s sheepish smile swimming into vision when he opens his eyes. “Hi,” he chirps, “c’mon in. I mean, it’s Lou’s room, so, I don’t really get to tell you to come on in, but. Come on in.” He gives him a smile, one that Liam can’t help but return. It’s Harry. It’s an automatic response. Just like stepping into his room is, it’s something he hasn’t realized he’s done until he’s sitting down on the bed, and Harry is discreetly removing himself under the pretense of making some tea.

(He’s probably actually making tea, because Louis always likes a cup before bed, even though Harry usually makes him go for something herbal rather than his preferred Yorkshire.)

Louis, thankfully fully clothed, is sitting next to him, still a hint of amusement in his eyes, though the way he reaches for Liam’s shoulder is gentle. “C’mon,” he coaxes. “Out with it.”

Liam feels a bit embarrassed, bites on his bottom lip, but eventually he can’t help the words spilling over his lips. “What if I just imagined my crush?” He doesn’t look up at Louis, isn’t sure he wants to see the expression on his face just right now. It feels like a stupid question, he doesn’t need to see Louis’ proving him right.

“Do you think you did?” Louis counters, which, how is Liam supposed to know? He shrugs, feebly, stays quiet. Louis squeezes his shoulder, cards his fingers through Liam’s hair in a soothing motion. “Alright. Well. I don’t think you did, but, let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you did. Let me ask you something. So what?” He gives Liam a moment to think about that, offer an answer, but Liam’s honestly not got anything to say to that. 

So Louis continues. “So what if you did? You still wanted to find him when you thought you were just friends. If you see him and there’s nothing, no spark, no desire to snog his stupidly beautiful face off then - so what? It doesn’t change anything, Li. He still means something to you. You still want him in your life. All that he’s done for you, all that you’ve done for him, that’s still real. So if you don’t like him, then you don’t. Then you’re friends. You don’t have to be with him. Even if you do like him, actually. If you’re not ready or if you decide that it’s not worth your friendship, then, it doesn’t change anything, really, how you feel. Not unless you both want it to.”

Liam stays quiet for a moment, trying to make sense of everything Louis is saying. It’s not always been easy, accepting how he feels. He has nothing to go on but his own descriptions and Louis’ assurances, and he just doesn’t  _ know _ . What if he remembers everything wrong? But then, Louis has a point. Zayn doesn’t know that. Zayn doesn’t know that Liam’s been crushing on him. He’ll only know if Liam chooses to tell him. Which is both a relief and incredibly scary because how does he go about telling Zayn that he might like him as more than a mate? “What if Zayn doesn’t like me?” he whispers, thinking that might be the root of his entire problem. The idea that he’s come to terms with how he feels, only to have to acknowledge that it’s not going to happen. It might be easier if his entire crush on Zayn  _ was _ imagined, but he doubts that is actually true. “What if Zayn doesn’t want to be with me?”

Louis doesn’t immediately reassure him this time. Thinks it over, smiling up at Harry when he leaves a cup of tea on his nightstand, then retreats into the living room. Liam wraps his own hands around the mug Harry’s offered him, quiet “thanks” the only thing to break the silence for a minute or so. 

“I don’t know, Li,” Louis offers eventually. “I know I said it’d all work out, but, I’ll be honest, that’s mostly because I want you to go into things thinking that it will. I think it’s important for you to try. I think Zayn’s important to you and I’d hate to see you backtrack on your feelings because you’re insecure about yourself, or him, or the two of you together. But I can’t guarantee a happy ending. Zayn’s gay, it doesn’t mean that he’s into you, you’re right. But you mean something to him, I’m sure of that. If you didn’t - he wouldn’t have been so mad, for one, when you told him you were going back. I know it’s not much to go on, but, you’re going to have to take a risk with this.” He pauses. “Well. I suppose you don’t. You could stay home and just let this chance to meet him go by. I guess what it comes down to is, is he worth the risk?”

Put like that, everything is suddenly incredibly simple.

*

Liam spends most of Saturday in his bedroom, trying on outfit after outfit, discarding every option, until he’s gone through his entire wardrobe and has to start digging through the piles on his bed to reassess the clothes he’s previously deemed not good enough. He’s not sure why he worries so much, when Zayn’s seen him sweaty and gross after a shift at the hotel, when he’s been in nothing but boxers and a faded tee and never once cared about how he looked. But that was before he realized that he wanted Zayn to be impressed by him. Before he cared about how that one shirt sits weird on his shoulders and makes him look bigger than he is - in the wrong ways. He considers asking Louis for advice, but he’d probably try and talk him into wearing skinny jeans, and as much as Liam loves a good skinny jeans, he wants to be comfortable tonight. Especially considering he’s likely already going to sweat through whatever he’s wearing because he’s so nervous. He discards his leather jacket for that same reason, then decides in favor of his black Timberland boots. Which go really well with a pair of faded jeans, so he supposes that’s at least the bottom half sorted - if he can get away with jeans and boots to an art show. He wonders if he should ask Harry, considering the bakery’s next door to the gallery. He’s probably got some idea about the types of people that wander into art galleries, and more importantly, look like they belong there.

A quick text tells him that jeans are probably ok, as long as he looks well put together, he can probably get away with wearing whatever he feels comfortable in. Harry teases him by sending him a few links to honestly atrocious shirts, quips that a fedora is optional, to which Liam can’t help but reply that he’s not sure that will go with the gold link chain he’d intended on wearing. Harry’s immediate response comes in the form of a phone call - and when Liam hangs up a good ten minutes later (with the solemn promise of steering clear of gold chains) he does so with a smile, wondering if Louis would get along with Zayn this well. Wondering if they’ll ever get to a point where he will get to find out.

With his outfit finally sorted (he figures he can never go wrong with a nice button up), he wastes some time playing FIFA, hangs out with Niall for a bit, goofing around on the guitar, then finally has a shower and a shave. His nerves are in full force by the time Louis comes home with takeaway, and he has to force himself to eat more than a few bites before they’re on their way.

Liam kind of feels like pinching himself. They’re on their way. In less than an hour he’s going to be in the same place Zayn is in. He’s going to see him again. Hopefully get to talk to him, if circumstances allow. Louis is right. He won’t remember the right words to tell him. Just the thought of seeing him is already occupying all the space in his head.

There’s a small crowd waiting for the gallery to open by the time they get there, which fills Liam with pride. Sure, he knows it’s not just Zayn’s work being showcased tonight, but still. People are going to see his work. So much is hinging on tonight, and he finds himself thinking just how nervous he must be. Biting his lip, he turns to Louis. “This is huge,” it’s quiet.

Louis nods. “It is,” he agrees. 

“For him, I mean,” for himself too, obviously, but for Zayn. People aren’t just going to see his work, they’re going to criticize it. Scrutinize it. Him. He’s reminded of how Zayn wouldn’t let anyone see his notebooks before. How he’d said that they contained his secrets, how he needed to hold onto them because it was his way of holding onto people. Yet here he is tonight, showcasing his work. Laying himself bare. “I want tonight to go well, Lou. Not. Not for me, but, for him. I want -- he deserves that.” He swallows. “Tonight’s so important. You don’t, is it selfish, coming here? When there’s so much at stake?” 

Louis frowns at that, looks at the crowd in front of them, at the locked door with the curtains covering all the windows. “Maybe,” he allows, though when Liam tries to move away, he stops him. “But you’re here to support him, yeah?  _ Because _ tonight’s important. No matter what happens between you two personally, you’re going to want to be here, right?”

Liam nods, despite the fact that his heart about drops when the door to the gallery gets unlocked. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I want to be there for him.” He wants to celebrate with him when he gets into school, or comfort him when he doesn’t. He’s not sure he’ll be allowed, but he wants it. Wants to show Zayn that just because they’re no longer in Italy, no longer even the same people maybe, they can still be a part of each other’s lives. In whatever way Zayn is ready for.

“C’mon then.”


	25. Chapter 25

It doesn’t take him long to recognize Zayn’s work. They’re all ushered in, supposed to be listening to someone who’s explaining tonight’s exhibition, but Liam can’t really focus all that much because just to the left of the man talking to the visitors is a painting that Liam just knows is Zayn’s. It’s not that he recognizes the scene, it’s a bit abstract, but he can tell, even from a distance, without having to read the little card by the painting, that this is a Zayn Malik original. It’s something about the colors and the brush strokes, Liam isn’t even sure. He longs to go over there and find out, but he makes himself listen to the speech, hopes to find out when (if) he’s going to see Zayn.

He squeezes Louis’ bicep, hard. “I’m going to see Zayn,” it’s quiet, filled with wonder and terror. “Lou..” If ever there was any doubt that it was his Zayn, that went out the window the moment his eyes fell onto the painting, and he’s filled with this excitement and, oddly, tenderness. He can’t wait to see the rest of his work, scattered throughout the gallery.

They’re told that the artists will be out shortly, to enjoy the exhibition and to please not touch or engage with the artwork in any way, and maybe something else, Liam has to admit he sort of stopped paying attention after the man said that the artists would be coming out to mingle with the guests soon. He wonders if Zayn’s family is here, glances around but no one immediately strikes him as related - though they could just be wherever Zayn is right now, celebrating his showcase and trying to hold off the nerves. He hopes they are. As nervous as he is, he knows it won’t hold a candle to how Zayn is feeling right now.

Finally allowed to wander, Liam makes a beeline for the painting that caught his eye, holding his breath when the colors are even more beautiful up close. He drinks in the delicate brush strokes, remembers the fingers that held onto his, strong hands that could paint such wonderful, fragile strokes. He’s not sure he’s even breathing when his eyes find the little notecard underneath the painting.

_Growth_  
_2017  
_ _Zayn Malik (d. 1993)_

“Growth,” he whispers under his breath, has to hold himself back from reaching out to touch the painting, wishing that he could feel the lines under his fingertips, get closer to Zayn that way.

“I was thinking _rebirth_ at first,” he hears by his side, “but I figured that was kind of corny.” It must be funny, the way he whirls around to look at him, if the way Zayn’s eyes crinkle is any indication. “Hi.” It’s a bit breathless, and Liam wonders if he did that.

“Hi,” he manages, and for all that he wanted to talk to him, for everything he’s imagined himself saying these past few months, he can’t get out more than that. Than just _hi_.

Zayn looks up at him and Liam catalogues all the ways in which he looks the same, and those small ways that he looks different. There’s bags underneath his eyes, he’s a bit thinner than he was when he left him in Italy, but God, he’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful Liam has to consciously remind himself to breathe. He swallows, caught in his gaze, unsure of what to say but only knowing that time is slipping, every second bringing them closer to the next moment. He’s going to have to say something, before someone else catches Zayn’s attention. “I-” he starts, but before he can say more than that, Zayn’s eyes flicker to someone just behind him.

“Excuse me,” he says softly, glancing past Liam, then looking back to him. Liam wonders if he looks as deflated as he feels, thinks he might, because Zayn doesn’t leave right away. Seems to want this moment, this spell, to last just a little while longer. Or maybe that’s just Liam’s hopeful heart.

He wants to tell him don’t go, but he knows he can’t hog his attention, not tonight. So he nods, manages a small smile. “It’s ok. Go.” He can see a flicker of emotion pass over Zayn’s face, but it’s gone too fast to recognize it. Liam bites his lip. “I’ll be here.” He adds, tentatively.

Zayn’s answering smile is almost relieved. “Ok,” he whispers, passing by Liam, gently squeezing his arm as he does.

It still tingles ten minutes later, when he’s standing near another artwork with Louis. He hasn’t been able to wipe the smile off his face, and Louis didn’t even have to ask him if this was his Zayn, because one look at Liam and he had almost knocked him over, hugging him so tight he couldn’t breathe. He’s staying only until things quiet down a little, until Liam gets to see Zayn again, he told him, because he’s pretty sure that Liam will self combust if he’s left alone right now. Liam’s sure that’s about 90% of it, the other 10% is Louis just wanting to see the boy who managed to turn his life around. There’s probably also a healthy dose of caution in it, worry for his best friend. It shows in the way Louis cracks jokes about the other artwork, under his breath and only when no one else is close enough to hear, because he doesn’t actually mean to upset anyone, just to make Liam feel less nervous and maybe also to make him feel less scared about Zayn’s chances to get into school. Which, he _is_ scared. Zayn’s work is good, brilliant even, but Liam’s also biased. And although he doesn’t know a thing about art he can tell that the other pieces are really good too. He makes sure to spend most of his time near things Zayn has done, just in case the critics roaming the gallery are judging based on what works attract the most viewers.

It’s probably not anything as silly as that, but still. If this is the only way he can show his support, he will stand there until the gallery closes.

Or until Zayn comes and finds him again, as it turns out. He pops up by his side, grinning when Liam jumps a little at the soft, unexpected “Hello.”

“Hi,” he’s said that before, and just like before, he doesn’t really know how to continue. Zayn meets his eyes, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth when he laughs and God, Liam wants to kiss him.

Liam wants to _kiss_ him. Holy shit. He wants to kiss his stupidly beautiful face just like Louis said he would. He wants to fit his hands to his cheeks and see those lashes flutter down until they rest against his skin and he wants to kiss him until his lungs ache and his mouth feels numb. And then he wants to kiss him some more.

He dimly hears Louis introduce himself, watches them shake hands, but he doesn’t really come back to the moment until Zayn touches his elbow, looks up at him questioningly. “Huh?” he manages, feeling very foolish when Zayn laughs softly.

“I said I’m dying for a cigarette. D’you wanna come outside for a moment?”

Liam nods before he realizes he should probably tell Louis that he’s leaving, but when he looks around, Louis is nowhere to be found. Zayn laughs again. “Your friend left. You were pretty much in your own world there for a moment, weren’t you?” He doesn’t seem to be teasing Liam as much as finding it genuinely amusing. Liam wants to tell him it’s his fault, wants to ask him why Zayn isn’t as affected. He just nods instead, wordlessly follows Zayn outside.

The fresh air helps clear his head a little bit, though he’s still lost for words, just by being near Zayn. Zayn, who fumbles with his lighter, curses under his breath, and Liam finds himself cupping his hands to cover the flame, almost instinctively. Their eyes meet, Zayn whispering a timid “Thanks” that Liam just nods to. He has so many things to say, but he doesn’t know where to start. Just stands there, next to Zayn, who smokes his cigarette in silence. It’s awkward in a way it hasn’t been before. He swears that he hears Zayn getting ready to speak a time or two, but no words are exchanged until Zayn has lit his second cigarette, this time without Liam’s help.

“Did you know I’d be here?” It’s simple, straight to the point, yet laced with so much emotion that Liam flounders for a moment, shifts his gaze from the wall to Zayn. Zayn, who looks so young, so vulnerable, that Liam just wants to wrap him up in a hug right now. He’s never seen him like this, not even those few moments that Zayn actually let his guard down. This is a Zayn that’s been hurt. Liam wonders how much of it has been by him.

No more, he decides. He meets his eyes, braver than he feels. “Yeah,” his voice cracks, but he nods, tries again. “I did, yeah. I came here -- I’ve been trying to find you for ages.”

Zayn’s eyes flicker away, then back up to him. “Why?” He demands. Liam watches his hands tremble when he lifts the cigarette to his mouth.

“I missed you.” He swallows. “I hate that we fought, that I left when we were on bad terms, I hate that you thought I just went back because that’s what everyone wanted and more than anything I hate that I made you believe that I thought you were a coward. But I didn’t try to find you to tell you that, even if I wanted you to know. I didn’t try and find you because I wished things had ended differently that night. I just - I missed you. Every day. And it’s so stupid, right? Because we knew each other for just a couple weeks, but it didn’t go away. Even after I’d been home for so long, it didn’t go away, Zayn. I still missed you. I still - you didn’t go away.”

He’s not sure he even knows what he’s saying, might be coming on too strong, might make Zayn think he’s absolutely crazy - but looking at him, Liam doesn’t think that Zayn thinks anything of the sort. He watches emotions war in his eyes, play out on his face, and he wants to take his face in his hands again, tell him that whatever he’s feeling, it’s ok. Whatever’s going on, he can tell him. He wants to hear it. Wants to be there for it. For him.

“I missed you too,” Zayn says eventually, when his second cigarette has crumbled down to ashes between his fingers. He only seems to notice that when he brings it to his lips, drops the butt of it to the ground. “You weren’t wrong, Li,” he frowns at the ground as he says it, and Liam tucks his fingers in his pockets to keep from reaching out to smoothe away those lines on his face.

“About what?”

Zayn doesn’t look up at him, just shrugs a shoulder. “I was a coward. You weren’t wrong, telling me that I was too afraid to go back. I _was_. I would’ve stayed a coward too, if you hadn’t left. It took me being on my own for all of three days before I realized that. I shouldn’t have made you try to stay with me,” he looks up at that. “I should’ve gone back with you instead.”

Liam feels his heart do a slow thump when their eyes meet. “I wanted you to,” he whispers. “I wanted you to come back with me more than anything. But you weren’t ready. I didn’t want to accept that, but I had to. I couldn’t make you into the person I wanted you to be.”

Zayn’s mouth curls up a little on one side. “I wanted to be the person you wanted me to be.” He exhales shakily, shakes his head as though he’s not sure he wanted to say that.

“I wanted you to be the person you were.” Liam shifts a bit, reaches for him, his fingers wrapping around Zayn’s wrist. “Zayn.”

He watches those eyelashes flutter before Zayn glances up at him. “Liam.” It’s soft. Zayn’s still terrified, Liam realizes. He shifts again, a little bit closer. Getting into Zayn’s personal space, Zayn doesn’t step back, doesn’t break eye contact. It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

“You remember that note you wrote me, back in Amsterdam, when we said goodbye for the first time?” He watches Zayn nod, bite his lip. “You will need other people and you will need to be that other person to someone else, a living breathing screaming invitation to believe better things.” He quotes, his hand finding Zayn’s waist, warm and solid underneath his touch. Finally. “You’re that person for me, Zayn. But you’re not just the person that made me believe in better things. You made me believe that I could be better too. That I didn’t have to be defined by what other people thought of me. Or even by what I thought of myself. You’ve changed my life. And I know that maybe I should just be grateful for that and move on but-”

“Don’t,” Zayn breathes out, hand coming to rest on the one on his waist. “I don’t want you to,” he sounds pleading, and all Liam can think to do in response is tangle their fingers.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t think I can.”

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them back up again they’re a little bit wet. “I’ve been scared for so long, Liam. Scared to be who I was. Scared of what other people would think of me. My parents - I haven’t even told them about the showcase tonight. I’ve wanted to go to art school my entire life, but I never had the guts to tell my parents because-” he sniffs, looks away for a moment. Liam squeezes his hand, gives him time. “Because I already felt like such a disappointment when I came out to them. I couldn’t do that to them again.” He admits, his voice small. “When you left, when you said that I didn’t have the balls to figure out what I wanted to do with my life - it hurt.” He looks up at Liam again. “It hurt because I disappointed you. Because it was true. I was too scared to go after what I wanted, so instead I ran away and played pretend and you .. you deserved better than that. You were so open and honest with me, and I threw it back in your face.”

Liam shakes his head, when Zayn doesn’t continue. “Babe, you’re brilliant. Your parents - they should be so proud of you. Your work in there? It’s amazing. I walked in there and I knew, right away, which paintings you’d done. Now I don’t know the first thing about art but that’s a good thing, right? That you’re recognizable? You’ve got talent, Zayn. You’ve got talent and heart and I am so unbelievably proud of you. I came here to talk to you tonight, but before the doors even opened - I saw all these people and I just thought, it doesn’t even matter what happens tonight, as long as you’re getting what you want. As long as you get into art school, because I couldn’t think of anyone who deserves that more than you. I couldn’t think of anyone who deserves to be happy more than you do.”

Zayn has gone slightly pink, fidgets a bit, but he still hasn’t let go of Liam’s hand. Liam’s not sure what it means, where they stand, but he thinks it’s probably a good sign. “You called me babe,” he whispers, biting down on his bottom lip like he hadn’t meant to call him out on that.

Liam nods. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing too. “D’you not like it? You called me babes a few times, but if you don’t like it, I could call you something else?” He doesn’t pause, doesn’t take time to reflect on his words. “Darling? Sweetheart?”

“You must’ve really missed me,” Zayn breathes out, looking a little dazed, but happy. Liam thinks it’s a good look on him. “Don’t think any of my friends have ever called me sweetheart before.” His words could’ve sounded like a reminder, could’ve felt like being doused with cold water, but it feels different. Feels like Zayn is tentatively hopeful, the way Liam is.

“I’m not sure I’d like it if they did.” He bites his lip, decides to go for broke. “But I’d very much like it if you let me call you sweetheart. On account of being in love with you and all.” He doesn’t even have the time to hold his breath while he waits for Zayn’s reaction. His head immediately snaps up when the words register, eyes widening.

“In love with me?” It’s breathless. “Liam.” It comes out a little wild, a little confused. _Leeyum_. Liam wants to kiss his name right off Zayn’s lips. He wants to shake him for sounding so disbelieving when Liam feels so naked in front of him, feels like he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve, practically shouting out his love. Zayn who sees too much, yet has managed to miss this.

“Zayn.” He finally gives into the urge to cup his face, feels him trembling underneath his touch. He says “Zayn,” again, just because he can, because getting to say his name makes him so happy. “I’m in love with you. I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense, I don’t care if it’s new and terrifying. I’m not afraid, with you. You’re my person, Zayn. And I want to be yours, if you let me. If you want me to. I want to always be that person for you.”

He thinks his heart might burst when Zayn lifts his hands to cover the ones on his face, when he meets his eyes. He’d hoped Zayn would like him back, would want to give this a chance, but seeing the depth of his own emotions mirrored in Zayn’s eyes, it feels like falling and flying at the same time. It’s the scariest thing he might ever do, but with Zayn, he knows he can do it. It’s not that he’s not afraid, it’s that it’s ok to be. Liam smiles, brushing away a tear that is slowly making its way down Zayn’s cheek. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He says softly, admiring the way Zayn’s blush crawls up his cheeks, reaches his fingertips. “I kind of need to know before I try and kiss you.”

Zayn lets out this sound that’s midway between a sob and a laugh, but his arms find their way around Liam’s neck, fingers sliding into his hair. “Yea,” he says. “Ok.” He aims for casual, misses by a mile, but the fact that he’s smiling that sweet smile again is all Liam could ask for. “I’ll be your person if you’ll be mine.”

Liam lives for the slightly shaky inhale when he brushes his nose against Zayn’s, for the tremble that goes through him when his lips catch the corner of his mouth. “Ok,” he echoes. “That sounds good. No more running away then either, yeah? Took me long enough to find you.” He grumbles playfully.

Zayn’s laugh is soft, intimate. “Ok. Or, next time I’m running away, I’m just taking you with me.” He whispers, pressed so close Liam can feel his lips brushing against his skin when he talks.

Liam shifts enough that his lips can finally meet Zayn’s. “I can live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read through this story, and double thanks for those who have left kudos or comments along the way.
> 
> If you've appreciated this story, I'd be so grateful if you liked (or possibly even reblogged) the [tumblr post](http://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/159711971243/title-lets-be-alone-together-author) that I've made. You are also very welcome to come say hi, I love meeting people! If my blog is not your thing, I also have a [fic tumblr](http://we-are-the-same-fic.tumblr.com/) that will contain links to other stories I have written and will hopefully end up writing!
> 
> Also note to self: never ever EVER post a WIP again. Finish it first. You've proven that you can do it.


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